Surface Tension
by banryuu
Summary: What happens after the war ends and the dust settles? Things don't always turn out the way they should and it takes more then dreams to rebuild a country. Pain comes in many forms and sometimes the best prescription isn't as easy to see.
1. Internal Pressure

**Welcome! As I was finishing More Than Skin Deep I asked myself "What is next?" The answer quickly appeared in my mind. Some of the most positive responses were to some of the things I characterized Van with, and I wondered if his path should also be explored. It formed quickly that his point of view could be quite interesting. This is a prequel to More Than Skin Deep but could be a standalone as well. The nice thing about continuations happens to be that the world and a good bit of its mythology is already well structured. Van Fanel in MTSD is a good man and king but still has some darkness he will never truly be rid of. The tattoos and past are badges of honor he wears proudly.**

 **How did he overcome what could in effect amounts to PTSD? Hitomi has her own anxiety and issues to overcome. No one escapes war unharmed. How did Van become the man he was meant to be?**

 **Surface Tension**

 **Chapter One- Internal Pressure**

To this day, I still hide like a child playing games, but instead of entertaining fun, I hide from those around me in fear. One of the few things I am grateful for these days are my gloves. After all, they are just one small part of the game. If people knew what I hid beneath them, would they look at me the same? Would they trust me with their lives? Could anyone understand?

Hitomi might, but she is gone. I sent her home like I promised to, although it is the one oath I wish I had broken. Of all the terrible weights on my heart, at least it is not one of them.

I pray she is happy on her world. I hope she is safe and can forget the pain of loss and war, though I never will. No matter how many times I scrub them raw, my hands will never be clean. The chapped, red skin reminds me constantly of the lives these hands have taken.

The blood debt will never free me, and the girl from the Mystic Moon should be spared this pain. She should be free from my troubles, problems that haunt my waking hours just as much as my dreams. It's true the war ended, but honestly, those were the simpler times. Kill or be killed. Fight with your strength to survive, to farther your goals, and push through obstacles. Now I have no armor or blade; in the battle of politics, it seems I have come unarmed.

Sadly, the fall of the tyrannical Zaibach didn't solve my problems as I had thought it would. No, things only became more complicated. Revenge is a bitter medicine. It's true that rebuilding had already started by the time I laid Escaflowne to sleep and sent Hitomi to the world where she belonged. The promise of a new start, a bright future, quickly faded like the luster of metal left to weather the elements; rust and corrosion ate away everything, tarnished and damaged beyond repair.

Our first winter after the sudden destruction of our one central city was a harsh one. People who had returned from being scattered had little of their own to sustain the long, cold months. Lack of completed shelter, ample food, and even warm clothing took a devastating toll. What I had left as far as funds proved insufficient. It was quickly depleted through inexperience and youthful optimism, both of which left the coffers empty as a beggar's belly.

Spring came, but the promise of a new start had faded with the money to rebuild. Houses and shops lay unfinished with no supplies to complete the ever growing tasks. I've tried everything. Waiving the fees for harvesting trees from the royal forest left the land as bare as my pockets, and no closer to competition. The rock from our cliffs are too full of splintering slate to be useful for building. What good is a strong roof with no foundation?

Where would we get good stone? Freid, who suffers from similar rebuilding efforts, or Basram who always asks very steep prices for all goods. We can't ask the young duke for favors with no way to repay. While Basram has plenty to spare as their lands and infrastructure were undamaged, but along with currency, they demand sole rights to the dragon nesting grounds. Even as young as I am, I understand what we would be handing over, the means for them to rebuild their army stronger than us or any others. They could build more bombs and terrible weapons of war, leading only to a devastating repetition of history.

My denial to their demands has only caused more suffering for my people. Any imports we would have been receiving never make it this far. Roving bandits plague the unprotected countryside. I am no fool. They began the moment I refused the outlandish request and have only continued to grow into another serious problem to which I have no solution.

Life has many ways of testing a person's will, either by having nothing happen at all or by having everything happen all at once. The latter has always been my issue. Each new problem adds more weight onto my already overburdened shoulders, but no one can ever know. I can't tell a soul, not even Merle who has been there through everything. She saw more of my darkness than a child ever should. I can't let this weakness worry her.

No, the financial ruin that looms darkly over our small, sad country is my problem alone, just like the nightmares that wake me with a cold sweat and raw throat. She can never know that despite my continued training, the ceremonial sword constantly at my side hasn't been unsheathed once. For some reason, pulling the blade free from its scabbard makes my stomach roll sickeningly. I feel more weak and lost instead of the strength it should give me. I feel no pride for the crested blade.

It should say I am the leader of a strong, proud people. Instead, this is just another stone in my pocket pulling me beneath the waters of despair. All I feel is the constant reminder that Fanelia has no other choice for a ruler but me.

Poor, misguided Folken dug a hole so deep that it will bury us all. Every effort I try only crumbles more earth down on our heads, swallowing even the smallest glimmer of light. I should be angry at the mess left for me as the last Fanel to clean up, but I only feel more exhausted.

My sixteenth birthday passed recently with little fuss or fanfare. Honestly, even if we could have afforded more, I wouldn't have wanted anything extra. I spent the day with Merle and at least she was happy, which was the only gift I could have wanted. It's more than I deserve.

Once a few months back I did visit Hitomi briefly. It was a selfish act that drains us both, but I don't regret it. Seeing her was a gift even if the bright-eyed girl also seems changed by time. I didn't want her to see or feel my worries and exhaustion, so I appeared with my wings out as a distraction. I hope I looked older and wiser even if some days I only feel the inevitable march towards death.

Hitomi was surrounded by other chattering girls about our age, wearing the same strange clothing she always sported. Though she was part of an energetic group, the short-haired girl stood apart quietly. I hope it was maturity I saw in her expression and not sadness. Though I didn't have the ability to speak through our connection, I hoped that my eyes would ask the questions I was unable to verbalize. She seemed troubled, and I could feel that Hitomi missed me the same as I do her. Still, there was something else simmering just below the surface.

At my sudden appearance, she let out a small, surprised gasp, and my name never sounded as magical as it did in that moment.

"Van." With a smile which I somehow knew was for my benefit, she said. "I'm doing just fine."

I think of those short bittersweet moments now as the hours grow thin, and the light wanes from the ever-shrinking candle adorning my desk. The rest of the room lay shrouded in shadows cast by the lone light source. Still, it is a luxury I can't afford to waste.

I should try to sleep as nothing on my small, slightly unbalanced desk can't wait till the morning. None of my efforts seems to make a dent in the mounting odds against us, against me.

The flame hisses and sputters for a moment, and I cast my tired eyes at the two brightly glowing moons to check the time. Just about midnight. I should try to get more than a few hours rest before the morning breaks. Instead, I return to the correspondence in my hands. More debt. The council had borrowed money from Deadalus for years before my coming of age, and had promised a return on the investment after I became king. None of this had been disclosed to me before now. Even though there is nothing left, our accounts are being called in. Since we can't pay the outstanding deficit, they also want a piece of our holdings in return.

Unlike Basram who desires the access to our dragons and energists for war, Deadalus to the north wants something far more precious, more than half of our farming land and control of the village of Arzas. This loss would devastate us entirely. The undamaged farms in that area are the one thing we have left of any true value. It is the means not only for food in the cold, barren months, but if harvest is high enough, we could start exporting grain again. Any income could be the difference between success and failure.

If we lose those lands, not only do my people gain a new ruler with higher taxes, but we would have to buy supplies from the latest owners at exorbitant prices. This would lead us farther and deeper into debt. Eventually, we would be chipped away piece by piece until Fanelia was only a memory of past mistakes.

The candle sputters again, spitting hot wax onto the document. Though the candle burning is pale in color, the quickly cooling droplets appear deep red like blood. It must be my exhausted mind playing tricks on me. I rub my eyes to clear the mirage.

This time I feel cold liquid splatter on the back of my neck. Just what I need is another roof leak. How odd. The sky appeared cloudless a moment ago. Wiping away the moisture, my glove comes away dark and sickly. The metallic tang permeating the air is unmistakable, blood.

With dread, I turn only to find I am not alone, but it couldn't be. A tall, swarthy man from one of my many nightmares is watching me with cold, hard eyes. Blood drips slowly down his rugged, mustached face: the old Duke of Freid. His violent death will always be one of my greatest failures. My throat constricts painfully at the vivid memories of his gruesome, needless death.

Still in his battle armor and golden helm, I shouldn't be surprised at the arrows sticking out at every angle, but I am. I don't see ghosts or visions, even with the pendant. The best I can do is a minute gazing upon a silent image. Is this what Hitomi had to deal with? No wonder she refused to let us exploit her unknown powers.

Did Hitomi still help me knowing that there was a chance she could see something so gruesome? Is the pendant causing this? Why now of all times?

"Fanelia." His low, gravelly voice addresses me by the simplified title he had used in life. "You see me because you must change your path. This is the destiny I chose, and the wheel of fate turned. It was not my place to question, but there is still time for you to save yourself from darkness. The very fate of your people depends on the talent you alone carry."

"Duke Freid?" What should I say to a dark specter? What could I have that would change fate? He can't be referring to my cursed blood, right? Could he know how lost and weak his memory alone makes me? "I have no skills that others do not possess."

"I will show the past, and you will correct your answer before the night has faded." He seemed so sure and unmovable. I hope he is right, but what could he show me that I don't already know? I have failed him as I have failed my country. They needed me to be stronger than I turned out to be. As it happens, I am just an inexperienced child with a crown too large and heavy for him to wear.

I feel as if something in the pit of my stomach has been hooked by an invisible line, pulling me forward with a nauseous sensation. Are visions always so sickening? Did Hitiomi have to suffer through this or worse? Images flash past quickly as if I am traveling at a high speed through memories of a stranger's life.

I can pick out some things as they surge by. A wild, raven haired child standing by a crying woman. The smaller form comforts her and claims that he will be stronger for her. A slightly older boy prepared to go riding with his mentor only to hear negative things said about his missing brother. The now boy becomes a teen. I see him running through the high grass of a field at night, hunting a far more dangerous predator.

The images stop racing by with a sudden jerk that almost makes me stumble, although I know I have yet to physically move at all. That same boy is now facing an angry dragon without fear or hesitation. His sword dulls more with each desperate strike. He doesn't see the deadly tail poised to spear him through from above. A short-haired girl yells out a quick warning just in time. He dodges, feeling the nearness of death but doesn't pause. This may be his only chance at the soft, unarmored underbelly. The dragon dies with gushing blue blood, and he quickly relieves the beast of its precious heart-stone before it's spark can dim with the passing life.

I remember the adrenaline and exasperation that plagued that fateful fight. The night I met her, Hitomi. The dragon wanted her, not me. My sword wasn't good enough for the task, dodging fire only to get smashed by its whip-like tail. That was the first time I painfully coughed up blood, but not the last. Those damn friends of hers getting in the way. The relief once it was all done and over with and how I succeeded where many others had failed. The last test of my worth as the only living Fanel and soon to be king.

None of that seems to matter now. All I want is to drink in the sight of her young, tear filled face. Hitomi wasn't like anyone I'd ever met before. So full of compassion and selflessness, a life untainted by loss or fear. She saw plenty of both at my side, but it never stopped her from doing what she felt was right, even strange as it seemed to outsiders. No, she never let the opinions of others dictate her actions. If someone told her she couldn't do something, you'd damn bet that she'd prove them wrong and never out of spite.

The visions continue to show me a life from the outside looking in. I can see now how foolish and childish some of my actions were, but the intention was always straight forward. I fought for revenge, because I didn't know how else to grieve, to protect Hitomi and others.

My own safety never seemed important. I'd rather die in battle than be weak. Fear never had a chance. I had to keep fighting, or I wouldn't have anything left. The anger of vengeance was bitter on my tongue and burned hotly through my veins.

I see now the distress I caused both Hitomi and Merle. They were the ones who truly saw me better than I ever could. Confusion and conflict simmered below the rage, and I don't know how we all survived it. So much pain. So many dead. So much blood.

So many times it almost ended. The metallic taste of blood thick and choking in my mouth. I was beat down and injured so many times that survival seemed unlikely. Darkness always closing in mercilessly. Enemies around every corner, always trying to capture or kill. Searing pain both physical and deeper down to my very core like un-healing wounds. Just outside the shadows a bright light burned.

Hitomi. Even when she was hurting that strange girl still believed in me, believed that things could be better. She called to me through the rage and anger. Her love carried me on strong wings.

"You succeeded where others failed because you persevered." I'd forgotten the Duke was there, but now his grisly presence didn't disturb me the same way as when the man had first appeared. The wounds melt away like magic, and he stands whole and strong as in life, unyielding. "You constantly learned from each person you came in contact with. Your mentor, Vargus, drilled _dedication_ and _hard work_ into you from a young age. The importance of holding to _strong values_ and _honor_ when things seem darkest you learned from the knight Allen Sheazar. The strength of _loyalty_ from the young Merle. That being royal is both a _privilege_ and a _responsibility_ from Princess Millearna. Even the merchant, Dryden, taught you to watch others for _opportunity_ , that fighting might not be the only _solution_. The girl from the Mystic Moon showed you _humility_ , _trust,_ and how to find the _beauty_ where others see only fault."

His words built a warmth in my chest. I hadn't experienced this emotion in a very long time, hope. I grew so much in such a short time, and I was never alone no matter how isolated I felt. I'm not alone now. I still have Merle by my side. Allen and Millearna are always strong allies even in these troubled times. Dryden has offered to send his caravans despite the bandit problem, but I was too proud to accept.

Even a world away, Hitomi and I remain connected. The pendant around my neck is physical proof of our bond. I will continue to fight. There has to be a way. A hope for a bright future. Fanelia and I both deserve it.

The Duke is gone and my candle sputters out weakly, casting the room into shadow. I may not know the reason for this vision, but one thing is true. I never before realized the similarities between myself and the man that invited death on the battlefield. He allowed our escape with his sacrifice. We all owe it to his memory to never give in even when the odds seem most against us, against me.

There is nothing now to be afraid of in this darkness. Without the meager candle light, mysterious sister moons only seem to burn brighter in the night sky. I know it wasn't a dream. It was a message I needed to hear.

Taking the parchment from the desk, I rise stiffly, as if I've been sitting stagnant for far too long. Striding to the balcony, I slide open the door and step out into the sweet spring breeze. By the moons' light, I see that a red splatter remains on the missive from Daedalus. Feeling stronger than I have in a long time, I tear it first in half, then again and again, until only tiny shreds are left in my hands. Relaxing tightly balled fists, the wind snatches the parchment greedily, and a weight lifts as I watch the paper dance away.

This is far from being done. Though the war is won, my battle is not yet over. I won't ever give in. I will find a way to continue to fight. It will take more than this to bring me down.

 **To Be Continued…**

 **A/N**

 **Well what do you think? I always love writing from Van's perspective. He's not really a vocal character a lot of the time, but he is very expressive. In this story he is caught between the boy warrior he used to be and the man he needs to become. If you've read More Than Skin Deep… well you've seen who he is in the future. This is the story of how he fights the darkness to get to that place where he can be Hitomi's strength. Sadly her involvement at this time is limited, but I think we can all agree if Hitomi came back now it'd be an absolute wreck. It's been one year since the end of the series and five years before the other story begins.**

 **For those who haven't read that story you won't be lacking any main story structure. Just some tie in points. People and things mentioned in that story might have more show time in this story. It all depends on how things go in Van's timeline.**

 **One last thing. I will put out a challenge. I need one more extra for the epilogue. I already have Minicilo, Meghanna Starsong, and Nofreakingway. If anyone can guess the order of Van's ghostly visitors they get the job. It will just be a quick cameo mixed in with a huge event, but it might still be fun. I like putting a little extra personality into my stories. And who has more personality than Escaflowne Fans? No one, and that's the truth!**

 **Please Review**


	2. Stress Factors

**So, not very much to say. It's been a while true, and Meghanna edited this a while ago, but you know the inspiration took a bit. The mind can be a silly thing. I actually wrote chapter 3 before this. The muse knew this would be a hard chapter.**

 **Surface Tension**

 **Chapter 2- Stress Factors**

What is real anymore, and what is fantasy? Was it all a dream? Or a vision? I want to tell myself that it was real, that I don't have the imagination to make up something like a ghostly visit. I don't have that sort of power either, to summon spirits. Do I? Is it the pendant?

In the year since the war ended and Hitomi left, there hasn't been the slightest hint of anything out of the ordinary. I've always wondered if everything magical had been the Atlantian stone, or some special skill belonging only to the girl from the Mystic Moon.

In my heart, I know the dead Duke of Freid came to me as some sort of messenger. He wasn't big on explanations, so I'm not surprised that there wasn't some sort of instruction. The past is something that can't be changed, and for better or worse, it has made me the person I am today. After the trials I faced during the war, I thought I could handle anything, but I was wrong.

The years of political training have left me woefully unprepared, just as learning to fight under Vargus didn't fully equip me for actual war. Every day I feel more out of my element. It's hard to tell who I really am anymore. Am I the king of Fanelia or just another blood soaked melif pilot?

I didn't start the war as a battle winning warrior but as a desperate child with only fighting theory. Each loss was a painful lesson. The harder I fought, the more of myself was left behind, like drops of blood in the dirt. I became an entirely different person, fueled by anger and pain. It took more than one selfless act by a strange girl to get me through the haze of bloodlust.

If only the world after the war was as easy. I knew who my enemies and allies were then. Now, not so much. One often parades as the other, yet I haven't the skill to tell friend from foe anymore. Nothing that I was shown last night changes anything.

Still a king of a poor damaged country. Alone in a sea of smiling faces and poisoned daggers. I find myself wishing Hitomi were here to help me, but then I find myself relieved that she can't see the failure I have become.

Anger can't help me now any more than she can. Deep down, I know the solution has to come from my own power or, if possible, sacrifice. The quickest solution would be a political marriage. My father didn't marry for money but for love, and we can see how well that ended for him.

The bitter thought makes me uneasy. I never thought a thing like soulmates existed, at least not for me. But what else could you call Hitomi and me? Torturing myself, I hate how my mind always returns to what could have been. The world would be a different place. What if my father hadn't died when I was so young? What if Folken hadn't failed? What if Zaibach hadn't attacked? What if Vargus hadn't died protecting me?

Only one question has an answer. If I hadn't met Hitomi, I'd be dead, one way or another. On dark days, I feel as if she didn't do me any favors. Not that I want to die, but sometimes, it's harder to continue like this. I'm constantly pulled in opposite directions.

It seems like I am fused to one of my desks these days. I have three to be exact: a large, overcrowded desk in my study where most of my business is conducted; one kept neat and well-polished in a conference room designed mainly for council briefings or meetings with ambassadors; the last is the small, overused one in my personal quarters. Today, I wish for the solitude of my room, but I am instead forced into a room with bickering old men who all know what is best for me and the country. They have yet to come up with anything of real value. I feel like a child pretending to be an adult, stuck as I am behind this massive prop.

"It's a shame no princess has been offered yet." The throbbing in my temples begins to grow as one advisor talks about royal girls like a marketable good.

"No one would put forth a match like that in our situation," another counters angrily, as if he is the one broke and being offered to any eligible woman with money.

"We don't need the title of a bloodline, just a well-bred girl." Code for rich. The pain in my head increases as their bickering grows.

"One that will produce a strong line." I love when they talk as though I am a champion beast only good to stud the next line of kings. Like the only thing that matters is my blood, or at least half of it.

"General Audal's daughter would strengthen the tie between Basram's power and our land." Just what I need is a war-hungry father-in-law, a man made powerful by the strategy and control of others.

"What about the oldest LeDoux girl from Cesserio?" Here we go, why don't they just auction me off to the highest bidder? "Her family is second only to the Fassa's in political ties and wealth."

"If closer ties are the most important factor, then Lady Hudson, cousin to the Daedalus royal family, is the only logical choice." Here we go back to the debts accrued in my name. "As our neighbor to the north, it would be beneficial to strengthen those ties."

I see the argument brewing and know my already frayed nerves can't take much more of this. "Gentlemen, this conversation can wait." The look in their collective eyes tells me that they see no other solution. To them, waiting will only make things worse. Gods forbid anyone mention the strange girl I love but let go.

No, Hitomi would have been the worst choice ever to my advisors. No important relatives, absolutely no money to her name, and a seer above all else. One cursed freak is more than Fanelia needs, and they are already stuck with me. Regardless, waiting for someone that may never return will only continue to hurt my people, but the matchmaking session can wait. Years, I hope.

Taking a deep breath, I continue, "Another message has arrived from Ezdgardia. Anyone care to enlighten me as to its contents?"

They look uncomfortable despite the combined political experience in the room. Before returning after the war, the sum of my actual diplomatic involvement took place while staying in Asturia. Mostly it was thanking the nobles there who were self-important idiots. I think I was included in one actual discussion after Zaibach attacked Palas.

The man who stands is young for an advisor, but he's still old enough to have children around my age. Something tells me that he has drawn the short straw. "Your majesty, it is an offer of financial assistance in rebuilding and government stabilization."

His careful wording makes my eyes narrow, and the man looks nervous, like he's suddenly found himself in a dragon's lair unarmed. "Go on."

"The sum proposed is enough to complete most of the city and palace reconstruction, including stone price." He swallows hard. I know the bad news will outweigh the positives of the proposition. "They ask in return for a twenty percent tariff on all goods exported or imported into the country, as well as any taxes collected, and an inclusion in all trade agreements in their favor."

The pounding behind my eyes has become unbearable. "Decline the proposal immediately." Anger boils through my veins. Are they kidding me? This can't be a serious request. Not only would it make trade with any other country nearly impossible, but they are grabbing for power within our government while bleeding us dry. We may be desperate, but I will never be their puppet. I didn't drive the dragons out so other countries could control us with their own agendas.

"There is still the purchase request from Ceserrio, which is far more reasonable, my lord." Another member addresses me smoothly, despite the fear floating through the room.

I've had enough, slamming my hands hard on the thick wooden table top. The deep color of it matches my eyes. The force of the impact vibrates up my arms and topples a stack of papers that might as well be decorative. "I will not repeat myself again. It is not for sale. Is that clear?"

They nod, visibly shaken, and I feel worse that these men hold such discomfort towards me. How can I trust a group of advisors when they obviously don't hold the same regard for me?

The rumors from the war are quickly becoming legend, and not all of them are flattering. I still am considered far too young to rule a nation even with blood on my hands. My own council fears me, but to other countries I am a joke, someone so inexperienced they would be crazy not to take advantage of.

I can't be angry at my advisors for pushing a political marriage when their greatest fears are our apparent lack of money and if something were to happen to me without heirs. After all, I'm the last of my line. Still, I wonder if I really want to pass my curse on to innocents? Would I even want to expose my tainted blood to another person? Hitomi knew my secret and it never bothered her, but she was different in every way. She didn't grow up with the legends, and even if it had been known to her, I doubt she would have been swayed by the beliefs of others.

The council has continued discussing the same rotating problems while I was lost in thought. It's not like my attention would make any difference. To be honest, the only countries not making some sort of play for control over Fanelia and our assets are the three largest players from the war: Asturia, Freid, and Zaibach. Out of these countries, I expect something from the warmongering empire, but I've been surprised by their low profile. Honestly, we are at our weakest, and they haven't made the slightest move which in itself is suspicious.

Another hour passes before the meeting is dismissed. The only thing of interest being addressed was the bandits plaguing our trade routes. Reports of their quick and ruthless attacks have spread throughout the land. They seem to be worst between our northern neighbor and us, which tells me the ones sponsoring these thieves see Daedalus as their greatest threat in harassing us. The only physical descriptions that match are how they only utilize Basram made weapons. Normal bandits would use anything they could get their hands on. I am pretty sure of the culprit, but I have no proof. Accusing anyone right now would just be asking for war to return to our front steps.

The men disperse. The moment I step out of the formal meeting room, I am assaulted as per usual. "Lord Van, have you eaten yet?" Merle attaches herself to my side, though not quite touching. In the last few months, I've noticed her becoming more careful with physical affection. I'm not sure if it is because of the eyes constantly following our interactions or if she, like everyone else, has become afraid of my violent reputation.

"Not yet," I state simply and let her lead me in the direction of the kitchens. Though I don't really want to eat anything, I know it will make her feel better to take care of me. With all the enemies and judgment swirling around me constantly, I have come to rely on Merle's steadfast love and loyalty. She will always be honest with me and right now that is priceless.

Sometimes we need someone to simply be there, not to fix anything or do anything particular, but just to let us feel that we care cared for and supported. I let Merle harass the few harried cooks we are able to keep employed for my long overdue lunch. It has no flavor, but I know I need to keep up my strength. I eat while the sharp-eyed neko watches me.

"You seem distracted, Lord Van." I roll my eyes but continue to chew slowly. A verbal response is not needed; yet another thing I like about being around Merle.

She sighs heavily, clearly not amused by my lack of comment. "I mean _more_ so than usual." She pauses and I almost know the words before she asks. "Is it… you know who?"

For some reason, Merle refuses to say Hitomi's name lately, like it's bad luck. I shake my head and can see her relax visibly.

As promised, the girl from the Mystic Moon and I have remained connected. I can feel her like a second heartbeat, distant but very real. Sometimes I can sense her emotions but generally only strong ones. Happiness, pure joy, excitement, and other positive feelings used to be more common. Lately, sadness and anxiety seem to be taking over if I get anything at all through our bond.

I wonder if some of my problems are bleeding through the connection and making things more difficult on Hitomi. I feel guilty for any hardship I continue to cause her. On the other hand, I couldn't ever think of cutting the tie that binds us together. Somedays just knowing she is out there helps. Maybe if things ever get properly settled with her, she might return to my side. For now I just have to accept the distance between us.

After the short break, I return to my desk, but this time the one located in my study. Merle curls up in a chair with some book I know she only reads so as to keep me company. I've learned not to underestimate the bright-haired girl. She knows more then she says, thinks more than she speaks, and notices more than anyone realizes.

The sun set while I continued to work. Despite all my efforts, I can't find a reasonable solution out of this ever deepening pit. My companion fell asleep a long time ago, her deep even breaths rising rhythmically. Standing, I stretch the tense and painful knots that formed. If I were more wooden, I would grow roots right at my desk.

Carefully, I lift Merle's slight form, and she shifts for a moment but doesn't wake. Her head rests comfortably against my chest as I walk the well-known path to her room. There are no lights illuminating the corridor, as they are an added expense we can't afford right now. If anyone needs to travel at night, they are asked to carry their own light. Besides, I know the way with my eyes closed.

Once Merle is settled in, I pull the blankets up and tuck her tightly in. This isn't anywhere near my first time putting her to bed. I shout get to sleep myself, but I won't. Instead, I decide to get some exercise and fresh air. Being stuck behind a desk or in meetings doesn't do much for my mental or physical well-being. Leaving Merle's room, I turn and head down the darkened hallway with the distinct purpose of making my way outside.

Most of the rooms are closed up as they are left empty or still damaged. One room is kept locked for an entirely different reason, Folken's room, though he hasn't lived there in years and now resides next to my father, buried in the cemetery. His belongings were sent from Asturia after the end of the war. I placed everything in that room and locked it all away with part of myself.

The fresh night air clears some of the cobwebs from my mind. I go to the clearing where I said goodbye to Hitomi, and I begin to work through my stances. My training takes over and nothing else matters. The stars twinkling brightly overhead, and blood surging through my veins, strengthens me.

Though my sword remains sheathed, the practice blade in my hands does the job. This deadly dance is merely a solo act intended for only the moons; they are my audience. It feels good to break free from the expectations and disappointments that follow my every move.

Oddly, my heart seems to be pounding faster than normal, fear choking my breath. The sword slips from my suddenly slack grip. What kind of attack is this? Shaking hands go to my heaving chest, but the beat below my fingers remains steady. Hitomi, something must be wrong with her. I can feel her panic like skeletal hands tightening around my throat.

A flare of pink from my chest illuminates the night a second before the inky sky is cut through by a beam of blinding light. I stumble to the pillar of power as it dissipates. The pain eases as suddenly as it came. Only my own fear is left behind now. Where the light landed is as empty as it was the moments before this strange event. Hitomi isn't here, but something clearly happened.

I reach though the bond only to find a void. Nothing. I can't feel her at all, not even an echo. This could only mean two things, and both possibilities break what is left of my heart.

No, she is alive and couldn't have willingly cut our connection. She needs me. Turning my face to the mystical glow, I let the emotions release my curse. Burning pain as skin stretches and tears, the fabric on my back is ripped to shreds as the large, white masses take shape. Feathers drift through the air like a strange blizzard. It's been a year since I've let them out, and the feeling is both strange and familiar.

Kicking off from the ground, I beat the huge wings, forcing myself swiftly upward. I have to reach Hitomi no matter what. The wind stings my eyes into watering, but I can't lose sight of my goal. I will reach the Mystic Moon and the girl who needs me right now.

Come one! Fly faster! Push harder! The burning and fatigue won't stop me! Just a bit more.

The air is becoming thinner and harder to breathe. Cold wind beats against me furiously. Just a little farther. I have to reach Hitomi. The connection and necklace remain lifeless despite my fervent wish. I'm beginning to get increasingly lightheaded, and black spots dance dangerously across my vision. The strange world remains untouchable and unreachable.

Struggling each minute, movement through the dark unchanging sky. It's never been like this before, impossible. My wings weaken, bending backwards painfully as they collapse against my will. As hard as I fought to get this far, now I'm being swiftly pulled back to the ground. The spinning, dizzying descent seems like a nightmare. Snapping out of the downward spiral, I beat my tired wings hard, painfully. Agonizingly, the ground rushing up to meet me slows enough that I collapse onto it instead of crash into it.

Everything aches. I failed. My connection to Hitomi is completely gone. I can't reach her.

Loss is quickly overtaken by far warmer emotions. Rage and anger surge through my veins, the same ones that cursed blood flows. Useless wings and a dark fate are my legacy. With a wordless scream, I unsheathe my blade for the first time since the war ended. The sharply honed blade has one purpose, cutting off this dead weight. Twisting my grip, the sword slides up my bare back until it meets resistance. Sharp pain blooms as I press the metal harder. Hot blood begins to trickle. All it will take is one or two strong slices. It will be so easy.

"Don't do it, son!" A deep voice yells out, making me spin for the source. Sword unsheathed and edge tinted with my own blood, I face off with a tall man who wasn't there a moment ago. Dark hair and mustache, I think it could be the duke again for a moment, but the similarities end there. I can't place him, but it comes to mind that he is built very much like Folken was. Suddenly, I know. The last king of Fanelia stands before me, Goau, my father. "Your wings are a gift. Don't let anger take them away."

"No, they are a curse!" I shout back at him, having a new target for my anger. "One you gave to us all! Now look at us. Just see your precious Fanelia and the ruin I have brought to it! This is all your fault!"

"Van, my child, you are seeing the world tinted with rage, and it is that which brings misfortune." With no reaction to my accusations, his stance is calm and that makes me more enraged. He died and left us behind. Folken was everything he would never be, until he too was lost. Mother followed them into the darkness, and at five I was left truly alone. Ten years later my country was taken too. Who would believe I wasn't cursed?

I've bled so much for that land, and I never had a choice. Now, I stumble under the weight for that duty. Weakness isn't allowed. I open my mouth to yell more, but I feel a cold, ghostly hand like a gentle breeze brushing hair away from my face.

"I never thought I'd be so blessed to see you grown into such a fine young man and king." His smile is wistful. It calms my anger like cold water poured over fire. "I wish nothing more than to have never left you, but you have become strong even without me." His voice wavers with emotion, things I could never let myself feel.

The emptiness of loss takes root in my heart now that the burning has been cooled. My wings dissolve into a blizzard of feathers. If I'm seeing him, then this otherworldly visitation isn't over yet. To make this situation even worse, I think I've lost my connection to Hitomi, may be forever. "You came to show me something."

"Van, you are correct." He gets control of himself and once more is the confident king who led his warriors to victory over and over again. "You have already seen the past, but tonight you must witness the world beyond your normal view. In this moment in time, puzzle pieces lay scattered that can either ensure your success or failure. Come with me. There is much to see and little time in which to do it."

His hand looks solid as it is held out towards me. How can a dead man look so real?

Going against my better judgement, I reach for his extended palm. Right before our hands come in contact there is a slight glow between them. Then we are standing not where I landed but in a warmly lit room decorated with gilt work and rich fabrics everywhere. It's clear the Asturian palace faces none of the budgeting issues we are troubled with in Fanelia.

The person working at this late hour is instantly recognizable. The differences between Millearna and I are as evident as the ones that could describe our desks as well. Both are large and hectic with urgent documents, and though they both survived the same war, one is scarred while the other appears whole. The princess may be busy at her own unmarred desk, but fatigue and stress don't weigh as heavily on her narrow shoulders as they do on mine.

A knock sounds solidly at the large door, and her quill only pauses a moment for her to call out a quick greeting. "Come in."

A single figure enters with a purposeful stride and quickly approaches the seated woman. "A letter just arrived for you, princess."

"Thank you, Allen." She smiles up at him with tired yet grateful eyes. "You are just in time. I was preparing to finish up for the night. Is that the message we've been waiting for?"

"If you mean the correspondence from Dryden and his fleet, then yes." Allen glances from her expectant face to the letter for a moment before making a decision. "Would you like me to read it to you?"

"Thank you, Allen. That would be lovely." She smiles up at him, but I see no flirtation or coyness. Their relationship almost seems like that of siblings, mutual and unromantic.

His long swordsman's fingers deftly break the wax seal and open the thick parchment. "My dearest wife," the knight pauses, unsure, looking to the golden haired princess with his strict chivalry still in place. "Maybe it would be best if you read this. It appears to be rather personal."

Millearna laughs a short yet musical sound. "Don't be such a goose, Allen. It's in code." He relaxes at her words but doesn't continue reading. "Dryden is many things, but stupid isn't one of them. That letter won't use any names, and it's probably been shipped through at least four different inns before finding its way here."

"My _dearest wife_ , I hope this letter finds you and the _children_ well." Another pause and an eyebrow raises elegantly, but this time he continues reading. "Sadly, my return has been delayed. There is plenty of talk regarding a _dragon_ hunt that might occur soon, and I want no part of that dangerous _sport_. It seems the richest of nobles have little else to do with their time, but plan and argue on the best methods to take down the fearsome beast. Some wish to drive it back into a small space, so it has no room to maneuver. A knowledgeable person realizes that an angry _dragon_ can be quite unpredictable. Others have already moved to starve the beast out, and this cruel method might just work. A _dragon_ weakened by hunger can be easier to counter, because of the recent activity, my path was _blocked_ by fallen trees. I am sorry to say, but I was unable to deliver the gifts to your _cousin_ as you asked. I may need your _brother_ and his _friends_ to help with some of the _heavy lifting_ to clear a path if things continue like this.

"On the final matter you were concerned about, I have yet to hear any news regarding the _key_ your nephew lost. I understand that it was an heirloom, but many such items have gone missing in the last year. Sorry to say, it is most likely gone for good. I will continue to look, but I hold little hope the ring can be recovered." Allen glances at the princess who has been listening carefully before finishing the message with a sour expression. "Give my love to the children and pray for my swift return. Your loving and handsome husband, Leon."

"It was quite a lot of information in such a short note." Millearna tilts her head to the side in thought. "What do you make of the letter?"

Allen hands her the parchment. "He signed with my father's name, because he knew I would read it, smug bastard." Crossing his arms and leaning against the desk, it seemed he has more to say on the matter but holds back. "I take it that _your children_ happen to be code for Asturia, and Fanelia is the _dragon_ being hunted."

"Correct on both accounts. Though the _dragon_ mentioned could also stand for Van specifically." Millearna smiles as she starts to jot down notes in her own elegant hand. "His information confirms my suspicions. The other countries are trying to pressure and starve our friend into handing over bits of his country. If one wins, then they all win in a way. Fanelia falls and the scavengers fight over the remains. It could easily turn into the next Great War. After all, Daedalus still blames Cessrio for the loss of their troops which were attacked and killed when Zaibach surrendered. Think about what kind of feud could happen now. It's like spoiled children fighting over the same toy."

"As to the presents he mentioned for your _cousin_ , what was that about?" Allen mused out loud.

"I sent supplies for Van and Fanelia without my father's permission, but he was unable to deliver them due to a blockade set up. Someone is using bandits to control the land route, and there are also airships that guard all borders." Her writing turns angry, almost stabbing the paper forcefully. "Dryden mentions you as _my brother_ and your crew as _friends_. If we need to get those supplies through, we will have to fight pass the enemies standing in our way."

Shocked, Allen pushes away from the desk and begins to pace restlessly like a caged animal. "We can't fight though."

"Exactly," the princess sighs heavily, running ink stained hands through her waves of golden hair. "It would go against direct orders from my father. You would be marked a traitor once more, so that he could avoid a fight and any actual responsibility. For now, our hands are tied."

"So, Van is truly on his own this time." The knight looks sadly out the darkened window as the scene begins to fade to nothingness.

I turn to the former king at my side for confirmation. "Is this happening right now?"

"Yes, in this very moment," he agrees solemnly. I can see his experienced eyes calculating the information. Of course, I knew about the bandits, but nothing ever came through to me regarding a leviship blockade. It seems like enemies just keep converging from all sides. How would my guide navigate these troubled waters? Somehow, I know he won't tell; that would be too simple. "Are you ready to see more?"

What else could he want to show me when my mind is still reeling from everything I just learned? Millearna and my other Asturian friends want to help us but are unable to. That last part I expected, just not to this extent. I had no clue that the princess was attempting to send assistance or that Dryden is actively working as an informant for her.

I wasn't expecting someone to come save us, and now I know I was right. We are well and truly on our own, ghostly messengers notwithstanding.

This new room I'm standing in is also reminiscent of my past travels. I recognize the simpler, more Spartan furnishings of Freid as well as the lone figure in the room. The small boy has grown some in the last year, as children do. He sits at a desk himself like the one in my own bedroom. For me, it seems small and cluttered, but it is oversized for Chid. His golden hair fans out on top documents and reports, and his even breathing betrays his sleeping state.

I have done the same thing before myself, being so exhausted as to fall asleep while attempting to get work done. No one else is in the room, and he surely isn't going to wake up and give a monologue detailing issues with my country.

My guide merely shrugs at my questioning stare. There is something here I'm missing, an object or event I need to see.

It seems so strange to be here but not physically. I still approach the sleeping boy cautiously, as though my presence could wake him. Still nothing happens. He continues to dream while his small, soft face rests on various papers. On closer inspection, I see a report I recognize. It's a declaration from Zaibach that they do not have the Atlantian relic that once belonged to Freid, their most guarded secret. I received the same thing; I'm sure every country did. It was one of their arguments proving their great loss during the war.

They had to pay Freid a hefty fine for losing the key and claimed it had taken the last of their funds to do so. This was how they got away with only giving us an empty apology for their unprovoked attack and the pursuit that followed me through the war.

Something clicks into place. Earlier today I received a request from the young Duke asking for any information leading to the retrieval of this same artifact. I put that together with the end of Dryden's coded letter. Chid is actively trying to recover the seal sword, but he isn't having any luck. The crafty merchant called it a _key_ in his message, which most would assume as a small thing. In this case, it opened far more than a chest or door.

The door opens silently, and a dark-skinned man moves fluidly through to room toward the sleeping child. I feel the need to warn or protect Chid, but the person passes right through me without resistance. Instead of hurting the boy, this unknown man carefully lifts the slight form into his arms with practiced ease. I understand now. He must be one of the young Duke's retainers and might just find him like this on a regular basis. I watch as he tenderly tucks the small, lonely boy-ruler under the covers with love and care, much as I did for Merle not so long ago.

I blink and find myself back in Fanelia, still shirtless but no longer filled with rage and anger. Looking to the man that would be my father, I can't help but express my disappointment. "Was that it? Isn't there more you need to show me? Don't I need to see Hitomi?"

He looks amused at my impetuous request, but something else moves through his eyes that I don't like. "I have guided you through the events required to change this destructive path." He knows why our connection was severed, and it's going to hurt.

"Don't I need to see her? Won't not knowing what happened only fuel my anger and self-hate? Wouldn't it be better to give me proper closure?" My arguments are persuasive and have the ring of truth. In the past and now present, I have never shown the ability to let things go easily. Dark thoughts spiral through my mind, only causing more doubt and rage. Violent outbursts are the least of the reactions I've been known for.

He sighs heavily as my surroundings begin to morph again. "I had hoped to spare you this, but I should have known it wouldn't be so easily forgotten." Before I can ask exactly what he means, my attention is fully drawn to this new vision.

We stand in a strange room painted bright white, feeling sterile and stale with sickness. Unusual machines beep annoyingly around a railed bed where a slight figure lays motionless. I'm afraid to get closer. The solid door at my back opens and I spin around with my heart in my throat. She enters the room hesitantly. Short hair laying oddly as if dried strangely, her standard clothing wrinkled and dirty.

Hitomi looks sad but whole as she closes the door softly. She says nothing and moves to an uncomfortable looking chair at the figure's side. The girl I love leans forward, elbows on her scuffed knees, head in her hands dejectedly.

"I'm so sorry, Yukari." Her voice is only a rough whisper, hoarse from unshed tears. "This is all my fault. It should be me laying there, not you."

The person remains frozen in place, machines beeping and working with a constant hum. The pain I see forces me too look for answers in my guide.

'What is this place?" This world is strange, and it feels like I'm missing something important by not understanding.

"A hospital. This is where the sick and injured are treated on the Mystic Moon." His words are factual, but the tone of voice leads me to believe that there is more to this story.

"Hitomi looks uninjured. What is wrong with her?" Hitomi doesn't belong here. If she were hurt, I would know, right?

"Not all wounds are visible." I don't need him to tell me that. I know better than most, and I can see the pain radiating through her form. "Just because you can't see the pain doesn't make it any less real."

Guilt weighs heavily and I want nothing more than to wrap my arms around her, whispering empty promises that everything will be alright. It won't help; lies were never my strong suit. I step towards the strange bed and closer to Hitomi's trembling side. There is another girl laying still as death, her face pale in the few places where the bruises don't cover. I can only recognize her by the shock of auburn hair spread out on the white pillow, Hitomi's friend, the one who twisted her ankle running from my dragon.

Her eyes flutter open blearily. "Hitomi?" Her voice is little more than a gravely whisper.

Instantly the short-haired girl is by her side. "I'm here, Yukari." False hope painted unconvincingly on her tired face.

"I'm not dead then." Her voice trembles, and Hitomi takes her motionless hand. "I saw the light. It came for you again."

"Don't worry about it. I'm right where I need to be." My heart twist painfully knowing they are talking about the pillar that returned to me empty. Hitomi chose not to come.

"You are so unhappy here. Why didn't you go to him?" I may not know this friend well, but it always seemed as if she put Hitomi's feeling first always. Now she lays fragile and broken in the bed, but the only concern on her mind is that same friend's happiness.

"I belong here with you. Nothing else matters." She squeezes the prone girl's hand, and I can feel the guilt pressing in on her. This is a trial where I am completely powerless to help.

"I'm scared, Hitomi." Tears well up in her eyes, but there is a strength there that I can't help but respect. "D-did you… did you see this happen?" Her stuttering betrays the fear swelling up through every other emotion.

"No," Hitomi pauses, looking stricken. She didn't have a vision of this terrible event. The one time she regrets not seeing something rather than the other way around. "Yukari, it's all my fault. I'll stay right here with you forever."

"You won't leave?" The hurt girl's lip, though bruised and split, trembles as she watches Hitomi and waits for an honest response.

"Never." The word is final, but it feels meaningless. She told me never once. That she'd never forget me, and now it seems that memory is all I'll ever have.

"The doctors say there isn't a way to fix me." Her eyes close tightly as if shutting out the truth.

Hitomi gently brushes hair from her sweating forehead. "We are all a little broken. The last time I checked, a broken crayon still colored." They share a watery smile, and I know why Hitomi's connection was cut so suddenly. She chose this painful life of guilt instead of ever having a chance to change things and move forward. Somehow, the girl I love believes she doesn't deserve anything else, and that hurts as much as my inability to help her.

I want a million more moments to memorize everything about Hitomi. Instead, the graveyard becomes my reality once more, a world dark and broken. This was a mistake. Knowing hurts, but I'd never be able to understand without seeing it for myself.

My guide hasn't disappeared yet, but there isn't anything else he could possibly show me. I know the dead king lingers to provide me with some sort of comfort or clarity. "Tell me, son. What's wrong?"

The words come out despite my wishes. In another tone they could have sounded petulant. Right now they are tired and sad. "It's hard to answer _**what's wrong?**_ When nothing is _right_." I feel so lost and confused. What could a dead man say to fix things right now? I wish I had the energy for anger. All I find is exhaustion.

"Pain changes people. It makes them trust less, overthink more, and shut people out." The truth to his words doesn't just apply to Hitomi but to me as well. I've been doing the same thing, after all.

I open my mouth to respond but he is gone. I am alone once more. These visions are real. I know they are, but I still can't figure out how they are supposed to help. Pieces of a greater puzzle. Returning to the palace shirtless and weary, I start towards my room. I need sleep, and maybe this will all make more sense in the morning. Outside my door I pause.

Hesitating, I realize that I don't want to be alone. Turning easily, I go a few doors down and enter silently like a ghost. Approaching the bed, I see her slight form breathing evenly, and it calms me in a way nothing else can right now. Sliding to the floor, I press my back to the edge of the mattress and start instantly feeling drowsy, comforted by the fact that I am not alone.

There I fall asleep, comforted by Merle's nearness and pray tomorrow will be a brighter day.

To be continued…

 **Well? More troubles for poor Van. I had the visual of him fighting through the night sky to reach Hitomi, and no light came. How failure would weigh heavy like loss and guilt. Goau Van's father makes his appearance, and Van doesn't quite have the connection with him most have with their fathers. In a way he had more interaction with the Duke. The official timeline of the series is that Goau died when Van was three. He didn't Lose Folken or his mother till two years later when Folken turned Fifteen and was old enough to be considered a man. Fifteen seems young to us, but in some medieval cultures it was considered old enough to get married, and so much more.**

 **Part of Van's problems come from the fact that there wasn't an actual king of Fanelia for twelve years. Advisors ran the country unchecked. Everything seemed fine on the surface, but he inherited more than the Escaflowne if you know what I mean. He might have been fine after some adjustment of not for the sudden attack and destruction of his country. He's had pretty terrible luck in the past.**

 **On the Note of terrible luck; Hitomi and Yukari. If you read** **More Than Skin Deep** **you know what happened to Yukari and why Hitomi blames herself. If not the short version is that Yukari had an accident after having a fight with Hitomi and became pralized. Hitomi in her shocked emotional state called the pillar of light, but refused to leave Yukari's side. She never saw a vision of the accident and in a way was the cause, guilt keeps her trapped in this sad reality. That's why she cut the bond with Van. Also some of his nagitive emotions could have been bleeding through the connection making things worse, but for Hitomi it was to save him from her. As well as to keep from running to him and taking the easy way out.**

 **There will be more mention of Hitomi, but she has her own story from here. Please stay tuned for more as chapter three is already being edited. I can't wait to hear what you think.**


	3. Breaking Point

**Again lots of notes on the bottom. Thank you for my reviews, and I hope this answers a few of those questions that have started to rise. There should be one full chapter after this and an epilogue, but as with all my stories I may have a plan worked out, but the story may have other ideas. I can't wait to hear what you think, so please review!**

 **Surface Tension**

 **Chapter 3- Breaking Point**

No matter what the spirits have shown me, something still doesn't fit. Hitomi willingly cut our connection. That much is clear. But why sever the bond forever? The pillar of light arrived without her, and now what am I left to believe? She chose to stay with her friend, but is she never coming back?

When we said our goodbyes, it was with sad smiles and unshed tears. I wanted to be happy for her. I had to be. Fanelia needed me while her family was just as important to her. Still, somewhere deep down I was jealous. That she had a happy family to return to, a simple uncomplicated life I'll never know. I could never blame her for choosing them.

Could I throw it all away for love? Leave this world still healing from war? Turn away from my country and live a life of true freedom?

I've fantasized about it, of course, following her to the Mystic Moon and starting a new life. Go to lessons at her side. Grow together and love without restrictions. I don't know much about her world or country, but everything seems to revolve around those who have money. What would I do as a profession if I weren't a king? How would I support her or even myself? Could I even convince her family that I was worthy? What would set me apart from other men? Now that dream is gone like smoke on the wind, just a faded memory.

No, I belong here. Fanelia needs me, or if not me, it needs someone to be responsible for the sad state of things. I feel the chaos churning just beyond reach, and I have to fight the pull of others for the sake of my people. If I were not such a poor excuse for a king, then maybe we wouldn't be in such a mess to begin with.

Everyone desires a piece of us. Daedalus wants our land, bit by bit, until there is nothing left. Basram wants our Dragons to wage the next big war. Cessiorio wants our guardian, Escaflowne, for their own. Eldizgardia wants control of our government and income.

Asturia wants to help but can't as their hands are tied. Freid is in a similar position that we are, except their blood ties to the coastal mercantile country have helped them in both funding and protection. The young duke also has the added task of finding a lost national treasure.

Lastly, Zaibach, the country that sought a power they couldn't control, has somehow wiggled out of the worst of it. They created so much death and destruction in Fanelia, Asturia and Freid. The damage to their fleet was the worst loss they suffered aside from the violent death of their decrepit emperor. What gets me is somehow the council of allies agreed that they suffered enough and were pardoned from paying the countries they terrorized. The excuse is that they, as a people, had no power to oppose the insane dictator pushing towards destruction.

My blood boils at the thought that Zaibach is using their apparent lack of will to play the victim. A year ago they seemed perfectly happy to attack for the same goals they now claim were purely the work of one senile, old man. Folken and the insane red armored fighter, Dilandau, left nothing but destruction in their wake. The rest of us are left to clean up this mess.

By mess I mean the stacks of ongoing issues, reports of recent bandit attacks, not so polite requests for repayment, and information of possible brides with large dowries. In the chaos, I recognize a request from young Duke Chid on any possible information that leads to the recovery of the Atlantian power spot key.

I feel for his situation, but I know nothing of where it might be and have larger concerns. Like how we plan to finish planting, and make it through harvest in a few moons with our diminished workforce. If crops are as poor as last year, we'll have no chance to survive another harsh winter.

The door opens silently and I know who my visitor is without looking. "What is it, Merle?"

"You didn't come eat again, Lord Van." The disapproval in her voice isn't new but not high on my priority list.

"I'm not hungry." I don't have the energy for this argument and saying so would only make things worse. Best to just keep working. she'll get the picture and leave eventually.

"You're never hungry." Merle's hands are propped defensively on those narrow hips, and I haven't looked in her direction since arrival. I don't need to. A plate of food lands in the center on my desk noisily, surprising me. I hide the slight jump by shifting in my seat. "I'm not leaving until you eat something."

"Then you'll be waiting a long time," I speak dryly, pulling another missive from under the interfering plate. This letter details Cessioro offering us a huge amount of much needed money. The only catch is their continued attempt to purchase something I refuse to sell, Escaflowne. Why can't anyone understand that somethings are best left alone, like sleeping dragons?

"Come on, Lord Van. This isn't helping anyone." Something in her tone makes me feel slightly bad, and I glance at the plate only to regret it instantly. My stomach rolls. The thought of trying to force any of this down makes me feel worse.

"If you don't mind, I have work to do." I shove the offending plate aside, hoping she takes it away quickly. Merle is just trying to look out for me; sometimes it seems as if she is the only one. Pushing her away like this isn't helping either of us, but I can't let her see how frayed my nerves have become.

"Is there anything I can do to help? Please just tell me, Lord Van." Her earnest eyes make me want to tell her everything, but I can't put that weight on her shoulders. This is my problem not hers or anyone else's, it would be better if she just left me alone for once.

"There's nothing." Running shaking hands through my wild mess of hair, which must make me look even more like a crazy man. "If only Hitomi was here…"

The moment the words escape I know what a mistake they are. I can't take them back now, even if they are the first true thing I've said in a long time. It's like a slap in the face to the poor girl that has been by my side, long before I ever knew the short haired seer existed. All through the war, and the long painful year after, Merle was here. We both know she isn't my first choice of companion, and that's a hurtful reality.

"She's not coming back, Lord Van!" Her sharp tone hits the target as my heart seems to squeeze painfully at the words I want to deny but can't.

"That's enough, Merle." I grit out and know the low tenor of my voice should be enough warning.

"No, that stupid girl never really loved you!" I'm drowning. I can't breathe from the pure conviction in every terrible thing she is saying. The tears in her large eyes tell me that this is something she's wanted to say for a long time, but she knew it would hurt me too much. "I wish you had never met her."

"Stop it Merle." I growl out, while trying to calm the rage burning me alive. I've never been so angry with Merle before, but how could she know that the wound from truly loosing Hitomi was so fresh. In a way I want to hurt her the same way, and my next words press right on a very sore spot. "You sound like a spoiled child."

Pushed to the edge all the venom of her injured feelings bursts out in a final dangerous attack. "You'd be better off if Hitomi were dead!"

Between the shock of her hateful words and the actual use of the silently forbidden name; a loud noise rang through the room like a thunder clap. Followed only by a deathly still silence. How did I get across the space so quickly? I don't remember standing up or moving. The only thing worse than blacking out in my moment of anger is the sick feeling of my stomach dropping. I come back to my senses. The only thing I know right now is the phantom touch of Merle's soft cheek against my rough hand.

Her large blue eyes, stricken with sadness and fear twists my insides like a deadly blade. She is carefully holding the injured side of her face, which is fast becoming an angry red color. Merle fights to hide her terrified trembling.

I reach for my only family with remorse. "Merle, I'm so sorry." She jerks away from my touch, scared I'll hit her again. Something inside me shatters. Dropping my traitorous hand slowly, I grip it so tightly my knuckles under these gloves should be bone white. I can feel the chapped skin crack and bleed; no one will ever see or know. Turning on my heel sharply, I leave the room without another word.

What kind of monster have I become?

Merle has only ever cared for me. I'm not stupid or blind as people assume. She saw my feelings develop for the girl from the Mystic Moon before either of us did. I knew her childish moods were jealousy from the start, but I never put much stock in the emotion. Hitomi, though strange, had the fortune of being something the Neko never could be, new and interesting.

I have always loved Merle, but I could never be in love with her. In my immaturity, I ignored her feelings, assuming that they would fade with time. I never expected to fall in love with someone else right in front of her.

Time did change Merle's feelings into the love between siblings, but Hitomi definitely was a driving force there as well. In the end, they bonded over a shared concern for me, one I still don't feel I deserve.

Somedays I think it would be better to give in to the council and marry for political gain like every other royal. I can't give or expect to find love if I've already let it go. What right do I even have to be happy? Why should my people continue to suffer so I can selfishly wait for a girl that may never return?

Maybe Merle is right and I'm a fool to wait for someone who never really loved me in the first place. She left, after all. I still want Hitomi to be happy, but the thought of her being with someone else is sickening. What a terrible person I have become. I don't deserve Hitomi.

An arranged marriage could give us the money and connections needed to finish reconstruction. If we have a strong ally, it would also help fight off the growing external pressure. With the state of things, we don't rank high enough to receive any offers of marriage for princesses like Millearna, which would be the best scenario. No, everyone pushed in my direction has money but no title. General's daughters, wealthy merchant girls, or even a cousin or two from some royal family. Really, it's all about connections.

My shoulder collides roughly with someone walking in the opposite direction. It's then I realize that I've left the palace in my stormy mood and have made it deep into the central city without even noticing it. I'm getting odd looks as I used to spend more time among my people than I do now. They are trying to verify if their king is among them once again. I don't want to be recognized. I don't want friendliness or fanfare at all. I want to blend into the sea of people and get lost in the daily grind.

Ducking into a small, shoddy tent, I buy a leather strap and a second-hand cloak. Both are rough and cheap, but they still take half the coin in my nearly empty pockets. It's difficult not to meet the vendor's eyes, but I am trying fairly hard to be unremarkable. I roughly pull my too long hair back and tie it with the bit of leather. Once that is done, I throw the dark gray cloak around my shoulders and pull the hood up. It smells like hay, dry and earthy.

With my disguise in place I blend in far better. My clothing preferences have always been simple, so that isn't an issue, but my wild black hair is a dead giveaway. Now I look as if I could be just another Fanelian traveler. It's lucky my sword remains in the palace as it is far more noticeable than my hair and much harder to disguise.

The question is: what do I do now? Where should I go? Should I just turn around and apologize to Merle over and over again until she can forgive me? No, what I did is unforgivable, and the last thing I can handle is being faced with the hurt in those innocent eyes. Merle could never stay mad at me, and I don't deserve her forgiveness. I can't return.

So, should I run away like the coward I am? Can I turn my back on everything I've fought for? The people that count on me? I can't run to Hitomi. She's in more pain than I am, and the last thing that girl needs is to add me to the growing list of her problems. Where can I go? Who would I even be if not for the king of a struggling nation?

I pause in my wandering and look back at the still damaged palace. The stone face once smooth and pristine is now scarred with huge gouges and stained with old ash. The blue roof with its spots of missing shingles remind me of the color of Merles eyes as they looked hugely up at me in terror. My mouth is dry as desert sands when I turn back towards the city gates.

Head down and shoulders bowed forward, I start walking again. I don't head directly for the only exit. Instead, I weave through the crowds and back alleyways. A lone man with his hood pulled deeply forward seems so strange to most people in the daylight, but they return to their tasks, assuming I'm rather unremarkable. From this level, I see where less and less of the work has gotten completed. Farther from the main street and city center, neighborhoods grow poorer. This amount of squalor is something that didn't seem to exist before the war.

Sure, there was always the better-off and those that were less so, but the differences here seem so much worse. Fanelia was always a clean city. When it was built into the cliffside, my ancestors used their combined knowledge of irrigation to build on top of natural rock channels. They both carved out a defensive home and used what the gods naturally gifted to us. Sewage never ran through the streets before now, and the stench now brings tears to my eyes.

Many of the people here had been pushed out of their real homes by the damage, and without proper assistance, they came back to no jobs as well. Most of these families survived off the small jobs provided by the women folk. The deeper I travel into the underbelly of my city, the less men I see at all. Lost in the surprise assault and following war, so many men never made it home to families where they were the sole provider. These families had to adapt to this harsh world.

During my wandering, the sun has begun to set, but I remain unsure of my next move. I have neither the courage to return home to the palace nor the daring to leave it all behind for a simpler life. If some of these streets appeared sketchy in the daytime, they are downright dangerous in the waning light. Not that I have much to steal, but with only the protection of a single dagger tucked into one boot, it's downright suicidal.

Though I have no appetite, I am drawn to the light and warmth seeping from the doorway of a tavern that doubles as an inn. It's near the gates but deep enough in the darker parts of the city to not get the wealthier travelers. No one would expect to find the king of at Gwijog, which roughly translated from old Fanelian means _**the nobodies**_.

Entering, only the bartender seems to note my arrival, a tall broad man who I doubt misses anything. I slide onto a stool in front of him that seems the have one leg shorter than the rest. The room isn't packed but seems crowded from the old smoke and loud talk curling all the way to the rafters.

"Hood off." The man twice my size loomed menacingly, though I remain unbothered. When I continue to stare at him blankly, he clarifies, "I won't serve a man who hides his face."

With reluctance, I push the dark fabric back. The anonymity it has gifted me with today is the one thing I'd miss the most. When no one seemed to take anymore notice of me now that my face is visible, I can't help but sigh, relieved. Today, of all days, I want to just be another weary face in the crowd.

"What will it be, stranger?" He seemed a touch more approachable, not that I was here for conversation. "Ale? Vino? Maegju? Mead? Leom ju?"

"Wiseuki," I respond shortly. Quickly, I grab the remaining coin from my pocket and drop it into his hand. "As much as this will buy."

His bushy eyebrows raise, but his questions remain all about the business transaction. "How good of wiseuki you looking for, boy?"

"Whichever that much coin will get me more of." I'm sure I'll regret this in the morning, but right now oblivion is all I want. To use all my coin not for food or shelter, but the cheapest alcohol possible is truly crazy. At this point, I'd do anything to erase the image of Merle cowering in front of me like a beaten animal.

"Five of Rotgut it is." he states, pocketing the coin. I'm sure he's actually giving me one more than the coin will really buy, but I don't say anything. He sets a clean, empty glass in front of me and reaches for a bottle on the lowest shelf.

Before the liquid can hit the bottom of the tumbler, a weary man with sun beaten skin and dirt fused into the flesh of his gnarled fingers leans over.

"Tag, you can't give this kid that dragon piss." Fishing in his own nearly empty money pouch, the farmer drops down two more coins. "Here, this should get you the same amount of something that's not pure poison."

"I can't take your money." Moved by this stranger's slight kindness, I can only shake my head. "I'll take only what I can afford."

The bartender looks between the old farmer and myself. "Mac Norcross here is a regular. If he says not to kill you, kid, then I'll stick to his word over yours."

For a moment, I think of telling them who I am. Instead, I lower my head and just push the empty glass closer to the broad man in front of me. At the same time, I mumble a low thanks to the stranger at my side. This time the bottle grabbed is from a higher shelf and looks far less murky. The rich, amber liquid fills the cup two thirds of the way. Though not much of a drinker, I know is rather generous.

The farmer orders one of the same. I lift my glass in his direction. "To your health."

He grins widely at me. "To yours as well, my young friend."

We tilt back the alcohol at the same time, and the liquid burns its way down to my chest. As soon as my glass lands back on the scarred bar top, it is refilled. The farmer, on the other hand, turns his cup over in a practiced move.

"Not as young as I used to be, so I think I've had enough." He waves to the bartender "Anyways, got an early start home tomorrow. I'll see you next time, Tag."

He pats me on one shoulder and mumbles something I can't quite hear. Before I can thank him, the man has merged with the crowd now pushing up closer to the bar. As the next drink is filling my veins with fire, I recognize what the old farmer said and almost choke. _"Long live the king."_

As I've barely eaten all day, the strong drink is already starting to warm my cheeks and numb some of the wounds I carry. I'm not doing this to feel good or forget my pain for a moment. Pure oblivion is why I drink among this odd assortment of farmers and laborers.

Just as I'm about to destroy my fourth glass, a disturbance catches my attention. A group of men looking a bit rougher than the rest are sitting around a table in a back corner. What has drawn my notice isn't them exactly, but the serving girl they appear to have trapped between them. She is on the petite side with long straight hair pulled back away from a pretty face. Her cheeks are red but more so from anger than embarrassment.

I should let the people who work here resolve the issue, since it is surely not the first time someone has gotten physical with a serving girl. I'm sure they have ways of dealing with those kind of men that don't involve the situation dissolving into a barroom brawl. I'm sure that is exactly what would happen if I try to intervene in my inebriated state. Ha, inebriated. Big words sound funny when you slur them.

The fogginess seems stronger by the moment. Well, the very least I can do is point the burly bartender to the disturbance and let him handle it. Aside from the fact that he appears to be dealing with his own drunken issue at the other side of the room. Where are the other servers? There were others a moment ago, right?

Maybe she'll break free and make for the safety of the kitchens. As I watch her, one free hand goes for a slender sheath near the small of her back. Nope, just got worse. Not that self-defense is a bad thing, but under these circumstances, her pulling a blade is the only excuse these ruffians need to take things too far. It can't be helped.

I give one more glance at the strong drink sitting on the bar, and with a few words to the stooping drunk nodding off at my side, I leave the safety of my wobbly stool. "Don't let anyone take my wiseuki."

The floor pitches slightly like a leviship in a storm. Did Allen ever captain the Crusade this poorly? Maybe it's the drink, but one of the men seems to notice my approach and his smirk grows a fraction wider. I've made it over just as the girl's small dagger makes its appearance. Somehow, I grab it from her fingers before the men see it and shove the blade back into the small, leather scabbard.

Her blue eyes flash at me in defiance thinking that I am one of them. For a second, the image of a certain neko appears to overlap with this stubborn girl. Merle, if anyone handled her the way these men are treating this girl, a beating would be the least of their worries. "I'm here to help," I murmur and hope she hears. I grip the beefy wrist shackling her in place. Not quite sure of my strength right now, I welcome the flood of anger and squeeze the bones together until his grip loosens and the girl can slip free.

The man cries out as I continue grinding the bones together for good measure. His friends have become aware of my interference. They stand up, surrounding me, radiating danger and hate.

"Mind your own business, kid." The ringleader steps forward into my personal space, and I know they just want an excuse to pound me into the ground. "We were just having a little fun."

"It didn't seem like much fun to her." Between the booze and the rush of anger, I'm feeling pretty good, invincible even, like a drunken fool.

"Look, punk, you don't know who you're messing with. It'd be a shame if you got hurt." The words themselves aren't too bad, but the menacing tone has the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. All they needs is a trigger, some action or cause to let these men loose on me.

This close I notice the weapons each man carries have the telltale markings of Basram craftsmanship. Of the six guys surrounding me, none appear to have old or frayed clothing. Actually, on closer inspection, the fabrics and stitching are anything but simple or common. No, these men are pretending to be average travelers. That guise makes me suspicious of their true calling.

Here I am, half in the bottle and vastly outnumbered by a group of the very bandits plaguing my land, terrorizing my trade routes. I ache for the sword left behind in my quick escape from the palace. If I were a smart man, I would make my escape and gather as many guards as possible. Still, who knows if the outlaws will disappear into the night while I am gone.

Well, I guess it's a good thing that no one ever said I was smart. Rash and impulsive definitely have been used to describe me plenty of times. Right now, I think they're good descriptions.

"Only a bunch of idiots would call toying with a one small girl fun." Oh, yeah, that fight I was looking for has found me. There are shouts by the bartender to take it outside, but he is too late as the first sword has cleared its sheath. Other patrons scramble out of the way, knocking over chairs in their haste.

I duck the first attack easily. The next man moves in from my left with a diagonal slice, and with a practiced transverse step, I evade him too. This fight looks more like I am drunkenly weaving between each attack, which in a way is exactly what I am doing. Training has taken over and my body reacts to the threat as it always has, equal parts stubbornness and skill.

The dagger remains in my boot, so it looks like six armed fighters being toyed with by a single unarmed man. This I guess is also true. Unless I want to win only by outlasting all my attackers, I should take control. Not knowing my alcohol tolerance, well, the sooner I finish this the better. The next man to charge me gets his legs taken out from under him and relieved of his sword. Now with a blade in my hand, I start working through the bandits easily.

These can't be the men terrorizing the trade routes. Or, am I wrong? It's down to three of them as the others are either knocked out or nursing various wounds. Halfway done, I won't kill them. These men could give valuable information as to who has hired and informed them. My head has cleared slightly with the battle rush surging through my veins, and I regret that.

The ringleader and two of his minions still stand, but all joking is gone. His dark eyes narrow, studying me thoroughly. "Who do you fight for, boy?"

"I fight only for myself." The words slip out and I'm not sure if they are the truth or a lie.

"Join us then." He offers, though I know something else is working in his scheming mind. "Your skills could be quite profitable put to the right use." Robbing, murder, and terrorizing merchants is what he really means.

"I decline." The sword in my hand shakes slightly in repressed rage. Suddenly, the pendant flashing a quick warning appears swiftly in my mind. It hasn't done that since Hitomi left, and I see it clearly swing behind me is an unmistakable sign of danger. With a quick exhale, I dodge to the side just as a blade thrusts exactly where I was standing. Ripping fabric and a sharp burning along my ribs tells me it wasn't a complete miss.

Like a wounded animal, I lash out, slicing the leader across his left eyebrow and taking the other two down in the same aggressive move. There is a still moment where the bleeding man makes a split decision and turns fleeing out through the tavern's doors. I want to chase him down, but the blood soaking my side gives me pause. I want to end him so bad I taste it like acid on my tongue, and it takes remarkable restraint to drop the borrowed sword.

Everyone is there in an instant congratulating me and offering to buy me more drinks than I can handle. Numbly, I note the bartender has already called for guards and enlisted some of the more sober men to tie up the five bandits that remain.

If I stick around, someone from the night watch is bound to recognize me and things will only get blown out of proportion. I'm still not ready to return to the palace and deal with Merle's hurt eyes, but what choice do I have left?

"Wait!" Somehow, the large bartender notices me edging towards the door and calls out. Stopping my escape. "Morgan can tend to your wound upstairs. It's the least we can do."

The girl from before smiles shyly as she motions me to follow her to a set of narrow stairs against the far wall. What could it hurt? At the very least I won't return home bleeding, and hell, they might even let me stay the night for free.

I give one last glance at the bar and find that my wiseuki is gone, not that I need it after all. No honor among drunks, I guess. The girl is at the top of the steps patiently waiting for me and up close she is prettier then I originally thought. The long, straight hair swings behind her like a flaxen curtain. Following her into the first room on the right, I suddenly feel as if I am doing something wrong.

She shuts the door behind me, and we are truly alone for the first time. I'm just here to get my wound tended in private, right? Why does it feel like cheating?

"Can you take off the cloak and shirt?" It's the first time I've heard her voice, though she seems a bit shy, there is still a job to be done and I can respect that.

"Sure," I mumble, unclasping the fabric from around my throat and suddenly feel lighter. The shirt damp with blood comes off next. While I am undressing, the girl has been busy with a kettle of water over the small fireplace in a corner of the room. Noting the bandages on the bedside table, I have a feeling what she will ask of me next. Carefully, I sit on the edge of the narrow bed, trying not to wince at the pull of torn skin as I move.

With a basin of steaming water, she notes my position with a small nod and pushes a thin chair into place opposite of me with her foot. I would ask if she wanted help, but I have a feeling that she's an independent girl. After all, she was ready to fight in an impossible situation.

"Sir, can you turn towards me a little more?" she asks, dipping a cloth in the hot water and wringing it out as if the high temperature doesn't bother her at all.

"Amano." The name pops out of my mouth easily. I needed to give a name not my own and knew I could never pretend to be Allen. I even remembered Hitomi's original crush at a time like this.

A small smile softens her businesslike motions. "Nice to meet you, Amano. I'm Morgan."

The moment passes a little awkwardly, but she focuses on the cut along my side, carefully cleaning away the drying blood. The wound stings, but I don't flinch or give any appearance that it bothers me. Not a bad injury in all, less than a hand's width and thin as a blade's edge. It's shallow too. I got very lucky.

Well, luck didn't have much to do with it. Yet another time I could have died and didn't thanks to outside forces. The pendant warned me this time, just as Hitomi would have.

"It's not bad at all, but I should really stitch it." I almost forgot she was here, so close and still. My mind was a world away.

"That's fine." I nod a small agreement, watching as slender fingers deftly thread a long needle.

"This will sting unless you want me to get you another wiseuki." The offer stands in the still air between us.

"No, I can handle it." I don't need any more alcohol tonight, and thanks to the fight, any numbness I sought has been chased away. Given what I drank already and the blood loss. another glass now would be idiotic. Pain I can handle. If anything, it might distract me from my wandering mind.

She starts to pull the skin back together and it does hurt, but nothing I can't manage. Working silently, I watch the smooth motion of her practiced stitches. I don't know how long it takes, but it seems to be over quickly, the wound even and well sutured. Wiping it with the now pink tinted cloth, she carefully removes the last drops of blood before bandaging my ribs firmly.

"Thank you." There really isn't much to say. It's not that I don't find girls attractive, because I do and she is. Since last summer, there doesn't seem like much of a point. Until the war, I kind of assumed when I married it would be decided for me. I didn't have much of a preference and it didn't seem to matter. Then there was only one girl for me, but now that also doesn't seem to make any difference.

"It's the least I could do." She begins to clean up the dirty cloths and bloody water. "After all, it was my fault you were hurt." There is something sad in her eyes that seems incredibly familiar. It's guilt, a very common emotion for me; she blames herself.

"No, you did nothing wrong." The words are out of my mouth, and I find myself taking the items from her small steady hands. Setting everything back on the side table, we end up very close together. Why the hell not? The next thing I know her soft cheek is cupped in one hand and my mouth is on hers.

There's a small surprised gasp a moment before she responds, moving along with me. Bards and poets always wax on about the magical properties of a kiss. Something must be missing. Not a single spark flares, and I definitely don't feel as though I am falling. It is nice and she's a good kisser, but that is all.

I pull away and realize what I was looking for the entire time. Short honey colored hair and bright green eyes. She may not be coming back, but that doesn't mean I've stopped loving Hitomi. No matter how bad things are, settling for another woman isn't an option, not even a wealthy one that could help the stability of my country. If kissing this serving girl teaches me anything, it is that an arranged marriage just won't work for me anymore.

"I, um." Starting this conversation is harder than most of the fights I've been in. "Sorry." It comes out sounding pretty lame, and I expect a negative reaction. I did just kiss her after all.

"It's fine. You don't owe me an explanation." She shakes her head with a small smile as if this was the better result anyways. Gathering the dirty bandages and such again, she makes it to the door before pausing. "You're not the first patron to try and kiss me, but you are the only one I've let."

That startles a small laugh out of me. "It was my honor."

Blushing slightly, she opens the door. "The room is paid up for tonight, so please don't worry about anything."

"Thank you." I am actually very grateful. I spent all my spare coin on drinking, and after everything, I still don't want to return home quite yet. She starts to close the solid door behind her, and I have to say one last thing. "Good night, Morgan."

She smiles warmly, and I know the kiss will stay our secret. The story of a stranger who fought off six men who were harassing her will live on. "Good night, Amano."

Drained and slightly light headed, I flop backwards onto the bed. Half-dressed and neatly bandaged, I might as well sleep off the last bit of alcohol lingering in my system. Whatever I was searching for in the city today I'm fairly sure I didn't find it.

Just as my eyelids begin to feel like leaden weights were forcing them to close, a noticeable scraping sound in the room has me fully awake. It was the chair legs as a heavier mass than my eyelids settled onto its thin form. I wonder how I forgot to lock the door, but something as mundane as a latch couldn't keep out my nighttime visitor.

He didn't speak right away. I almost forgot to breathe just taking in the sight of every scar covering the muscular form that dominates most of my memories. Vargus, my mentor, who died protecting me and Hitomi during the terrible attack. He gave us a chance to escape and left a huge hole in my life.

If one man could have been considered my father, it wouldn't be the king who died too soon. No, it would be the gruff old warrior who was always there. Even during the times I didn't want him to be, like now. I thought the last time I would see Vargus was in the Mystic Valley. Instead, the dead man watches me impassively, studying everything as if I am an open book to him.

"Are you here like the others to show me more things I am powerless to change?" The anger in my voice should be justified, but it sounds petulant.

"You tell me, Lord Van." How I've missed that deep, gravelly voice.

He may be dead, but that doesn't make the man any more sensitive to my feelings. If anything, he reads me too well, and that makes me angry. "Just get it over with already."

"As you wish, your majesty." It seems like a glimmer of humor sparkles brightly in his one remaining eye. Staying seated in his chair, the rest of the room begins to bleed around us like ink on a tear stained letter, melting and swirling until nothing is coherent. When things come back into focus, I see a boy of around ten years old tightening light weight golden armor that shines almost as brightly as his neatly trimmed hair. He looks very familiar, but for the life of me I can't place him.

His blue eyes are hard as Asgardian ice and just as unyielding. The door opens behind him, but the child doesn't turn. He doesn't need to; he already knows everything. "We are in position. Aren't we, Davi?" Though still the voice of a child, the experience of an adult gives a hard edge to his clear diction. That voice is so old for someone so young. I know him but how?

"Yes, Duke Chid." The bald warrior stands submissively by the door.

"And my armor is ready?" Again, it isn't really a question, because a negative response would not be tolerated. It's so difficult to imagine that the young, sensitive child has grown into such a hard and unforgiving ruler. It must be only five years from the present, and yet he has changed so much.

"Yes, Duke Chid." His smooth-shaven head remains bowed, but dark eyes dart to the side as if he is struggling with something internally. With a shaky breath, the man has decided something that scares him. "Is this really necessary, my lord?"

Chid spins around, facing the submissive servant like a displeased master. The tension radiating from him crackles dangerously in the air. "You dare question my motives, Davi?!"

"I apologize, Duke Chid. It's just that you could start another war over a relic."

"No, Davi, I am finishing one." His lip curls into a dissatisfied snarl as he speaks. "They've had many chances to return what they took from me, and I will not be placated any longer. If they do not have the key as they claim, then I will see for myself."

"I understand, my lord, but it seems extreme."

"Then you will never truly understand. Do you think what happened to Cesserio could have been avoided?" The other man swallows hard at the mention of the other country, so Chid continues. "Just like now, I gave them many opportunities to hand it over. Yet they claimed Fanelia gave it to them. That it was their price for assistance. What a laughable excuse for theft."

The relentless boy strides to the door, making his valet recoil in fear. My stomach drops to the floor as I see what he is admiring with such pride in those cold blue eyes. A huge, white guymelif kneeling with its towering paldrons and voluminous cape. The pink heart stone beats rhythmically with life and terrible promise. "No, the king of Fanelia abandoned it, and Escaflowne belongs to me now."

The scene dissolves again and this time I am grateful. Seeing the sweet, eloquent child turned into such a power hungry monster is terrible, but the worse thing is that it somehow feels like my fault. It seems he was still looking for the key to Atlantis. As a grief stricken, child he was forced to hand over his country's most treasured artifact. Zaibach used their power to take advantage, and now it seems like he was about to do the same, even if he had to tear the whole country apart with his bare hands. Did he learn that from me?

The world comes back into focus and I know we are looking at another vision, but I don't recognize anyone here. I am outside a familiar building and the only thing I know for sure is that it's in Asturia. The air tastes of salt even in a dream of the future. Am I seeing Millearna or Allen again? Small children play in the yard, dancing around a figure who is curved low over an overfilled wash basin. Part of their play seems to be taunting this person and knocking into the baskets of clothing stationed around her. I assume it's a woman from the slight form along with the wash faded cloth covering her hair completely.

I glance to the silent behemoth that looms just behind me, but Vargus just shrugs unhelpfully. I step closer carefully even though this is the future and I don't exist here in this moment. Just as I get a few paces away, the building's door swings open with a bang. The woman jumps, turning towards the noise on instinct. This brings her in my direction instantly. Though her ears and hair are hidden by the kerchief, even from a distance, there is no mistaking that Merle is looking right through me.

Her blue eyes look weary and sadder than anything I've ever seen and my heart twists painfully. She straightens her thin shoulders, preparing for battle. Like the vision before, this must be about five years from today. She isn't a girl anymore, not that anyone could tell with the rough baggy dress she wears.

What could make Merle leave Fanelia? Why would she be working in an orphanage of all places? None of this adds up, and yet again it must mean I am at fault somehow.

"Merle!" A rotund woman standing in the doorway hollers rudely. "What is taking you so long, girl?! Stop playing around!"

"Yes, ma'am." Merle stands stiffly. I know the unfinished chore bothers her. She faces the woman humbly regardless.

"How could you let us run out of rice?" The question is not meant to be answered and the woman rushes on angrily. "Now you have to go into market and get more, you lazy fool."

The disrespectful tone makes my temper raise and teeth clench painfully. I have to remind myself that I'm not really here, that this is only a possible future and not a reality.

"Yes, ma'am." The neko dries work roughened hands on her apron and walks over to the woman, ready for the money to pay for the much needed food. Only a few dirty coins drop into her palm which surprises us both. I spent more on cheap booze and this is supposed to feed how many hungry mouths? "This isn't enough." Merle's fiery spirit flickers back into life for a moment.

"It will have to be girl, unless you want it to come out of your pay." The woman sneers, knowing she holds all the power.

The fight leaves as quickly as it arrived, and with a sigh, Merle pockets the sparse coins. "I'll make it work." With slouched shoulders, she turns and leaves the yard without any argument.

"Be quick about it for once!" The horrible woman shouts after her.

She walks quickly to the market area, but where I thought she'd stop, Merle continues deeper into the stalls. She passes multiple vendors until a worn, ragged tent comes into view. She darts in quickly as if to avoid notice. Upon her arrival, the only occupant stands. I recognize him instantly as the older farmer who called my alcohol order dragon piss. I think the bartender called him Mac.

"Merle, were you followed?" He checks outside the tent wearily, but few people even seem to notice his worn shop even exists.

"No, but I don't have much time." She shakes her head and the cloth slips a little, freeing some of her vibrant hair. "Any news from home?"

"Nothing good." He sits back down tiredly. "Basram and Daedalus continue to fight over the last remains of our land, like two fat dogs competing for the only bone. The few true Fanelians left have had to flee or be caught in the crossfire. Expect more refugee children at your end."

"I don't know how many more we can take." Merle balls her calloused clawed hands into the threadbare skirt. "That hag is getting plenty of assistance from the Asturian government, but only gives me spare change to buy food. Two coins for a sack of rice. Even you can't take so little."

"We will make it work." He grunts, standing again and going over to the stack of untouched goods. "For the children, I can take a loss."

"You are too good to us." Tears of gratitude well in her tired eyes.

"I'd just give it to you if the merchant tax I'm required to pay Ezgadia wasn't so high." He grabs the largest sack, big enough that it should feed the orphanage for a while without issue.

"Wait!" She holds up both hands halting his generous act. "If I take that back for so little, she'll expect such miracles every time."

The farmer chews on his lower lip in thought for a minute. "What do you suggest? I let the children starve?"

"No, I have a better Idea." With a flick of her clawed fingers, Merle slices a small hole in the corner of the bag. Carefully, she pulls at the threads to make it look torn, but not enough to cause a problem with losing the contents. "I'll tell her mice got into it, and that is why I was able to get the rice for so cheap."

"Has anyone told you what a clever girl you are?" He grins, helping her to lift the heavy sack onto her shoulders with the hole upward to prevent spillage.

Merle brightens for a moment before her tail once again droops below the folds of the drab skirt. "Not for years." She starts for the tent flap sadly, but she pauses just before reentering the bustling market place. "Any news of him?"

Refusing to meet her temporarily hopeful blue eyes, the answer is quite clearly negative. "I'm sorry, Lady Merle."

"I'm not a lady." She grunts sullenly and starts back to the orphanage with her prize over her shoulders and a pain weighing on her heart.

The scene disappears and I don't feel any better than Merle did. What in the seven hells happened? Why does it seem like my country has once again dissolved into chaos, but this time I seem to be the cause? Between what I saw of Chid and now Merle, I can tell other countries have taken Fanelia apart piece by greedy piece. Much as they were already preparing to do, but now it seems to be a nightmare come true.

If the refugees are reliant on the hard work and selflessness of a few loyalists like Merle and the farmer, the real question needs to be addressed: where am I?

Yet again another landscape is made from nothing. This time a city with dry, arid air and sandstone buildings appears like a mirage. Freid? If Chid was attacking Zaibach, why would I be in Godashim? Who do I know that would be here?

The street is fairly busy with people dressed for the warm weather and going about their days, none that I could recognize. As with the other visions, Vargus is merely a bulky shadow accompanying me. He gives no introduction or assistance, though I would expect none from the scarred warrior.

I keep searching, but nothing changes, just a busy sandy street. The only thing odd would be the pile of dirty rags on the otherwise clean walkways. People walk around it with disgust clear on their faces. Why doesn't someone move it out of the path? One man kicks it only to receive a wordless grunt in response.

With growing dread, I approach the huddled mass. A shop owner comes out with a broom, cursing and pushing at the form while each passerby pretends that nothing is happening. Eventually with enough prodding, the vagabond uncurls. The form that straightens could once have been fit and muscled, but with malnutrition and exposure to all the elements he more closely resembles a crusty skeleton. His hair is black save the dirt matted in the shaggy strands. An equally disgusting beard hides most of the dirty face except for the eyes, reddish brown like old blood. I'd know those eyes anywhere, because they are mine.

My future self stands shakily and shuffles away without a word or defense. This man can't be me; there isn't a shred of fight left in him. This is what will happen to me?

Five years and countless miles below his feet but no home. Only in one place as long as it takes to scrape enough together to continue wandering. His country is abandoned and lost for good. His only family is a lifetime away and just barely hanging on. No hope for a brighter future. The battle is over, and the war is lost.

If I walked out of those gates tomorrow, this is exactly where my selfish act leads to, a hollow shell without hope. I would be alive only in the crudest sense.

I blink and the sad form is gone along with the dusty street. I am once more in the Fanelian inn and I couldn't be happier about it. The war taught me many things, but I had forgotten. If things seem bad now, they can always get worse. It takes a strong man to put down the sword and find another solution.

Folken wanted a world without pain and war, but he went about it all wrong. Not that I was doing any better of a job. Fighting begets more fighting, and seeking power can destroy nations. Chid became consumed by what he had lost and chose the path of destruction. Merle remained true but let the weight of the world's problems wear her down. I took the path of least resistance, not fighting, but not dealing with issues either.

I look to Vargus, my mentor, as he begins to fade. I saw what he wanted to show me and must have learned at least part of today's morbid lesson. He looks proud, something I would give anything to see one more time, but something is missing. He can't go yet.

"Hitomi." The name on my lips feels strange to say, since I didn't see her at all in this possible future. "You can't go yet. What will happen to Hitomi?"

"I'm sorry, Lord Van." His deep voice rumbles almost sadly. "I can only show you the future that this path will lead to. She is not a part of it."

"Why not?" The question seems so inadequate. I saw some of Hitomi's troubles last night and felt a fraction of her pain, but to not see her future at all is a loss I didn't expect.

"The Lady Hitomi has her own trials to overcome before your paths can potentially intersect again." The old warrior fades from sight, but his words carry clearly through my mind. "Focus on making a good future for yourself and your people. It is the only chance for the two of you to ever meet again."

The first vision gave me a fraction of hope, because if I could survive the past, then what I face now should be no issue. The second visitor showed me how others were coping and put into perspective the forces just waiting for a chance to press their advantage. Now I see a sad future. I know that destiny is not set in stone but constantly changes with each decision. What I have been given is the gift of reflection.

What matters is not what I have seen, but how I use what new knowledge I have been given. The only thing I know for sure is that I'm not going anywhere. This a battle I will not run from.

 **To be continued…**

 **Notes- As Van is Fanelian through and through even as they seem to share a common language with Asturia and the other countries, but I would like to think that there is a language/traditions native all their own. I used google translate to grab a few words and pronunciations in Korean. I speculate that some of the designs and culture seem to be derived from Korea. I do not speak any Korean so I apologize for any misuse, chock it up to creative interpretation.**

 **So you might recognize a few of the alcohol choices from the bar like Ale, Vino, and Mead; I added Maegju (Beer), Leom ju (Rum), and Wiseuki (Whisky).**

 **I hope you liked the serving girl Morgan. She is based off my good friend and beta reader Meghanna Starsong. I wrote this part with her in mind because knowing her she could never be a helpless damsel in distress or spoiled princess so he might find her more interesting than most girls. Morgan as it turns out is Van's first kiss in my story. If you read More Than Skin Deep you already know what happened to Yukari, and that Van does marry Hitomi (after a bit of her own trial.) The farmer from that story is indeed the one in this story. He isn't made after a real person but a supporting character of great character, he and his family has been pivotal in both stories. The Bartender Tag also isn't made after a real person, but a regular like the farmer wouldn't call him 'bartender' so I had to give him a name.**

 **Final note. Originally in the argument where Van hits Merle, she was going to wish Hitomi was dead. I knew it was a little out of character for Merle though she did lash out and act childishly out of jealousy and her desire to protect Van… well she never actually wished harm on Hitomi. So Meghanna changed it to the "I wish you had never met." Which fit Merle better, but wouldn't have sent Van into a blackout rage. I had to expand on that argument. They had to push each other's buttons just right to make Merle lash out bad enough to push Van past his breaking point. It actually happened to me once. True story I lost my job (years ago) for hitting a coworker. She said some nasty things about me very publicly, and the next thing I know I'm across the room and my first thought is how unexpectedly soft her cheek is. She got fired too for instigating and slander… but we both acted poorly. Writing from experience and all that fun.**

 **Please Review. (I promise no more hitting on my part.)**


	4. Old Traditions

**So it's been a little while, but here I am continuing. We are nearing the end after all. This should be the second to last chapter, not counting the epilogue. There are a few more tie-ins from More Than Skin Deep if you haven't read or aren't interested it won't change anything, but for the people who have it might be a nice little bonus. In the last chapter Van got cut on his side giving him the scar on his side Hitomi notices years later, also the bandit he cut is the one that ends up causing all the problems for them.**

 **I'll leave the rest of my story comments till the end since they have to do have to deal with this chapter's events.**

 **Thank you for the reviews and can't wait to hear what you think about this one. Meghanna Starsong was yet again a huge help as a beta, editor, and friend.**

 **Surface Tension**

 **Chapter Four- Old Traditions**

I'm not exactly sure how long I slept, but for once it feels like enough. There isn't any grogginess or disorientation that normally clouds my first waking moments. I don't taste blood in my mouth or feel the constricting, fitted controls of Escaflowne wrapped tightly around my body. Screams and curses are not filling my ears, and dark memories aren't haunting my every thought.

No, I know exactly where I am, comfortably lying on a borrowed bed in an inn where I haven't paid for a room. After an intoxicated fight with some trouble-making bandits and a minor injury on my part, I was given a chance to rest in peace. Between then and now, several things happened, including kissing a girl I had just met and having a long, vision-filled chat with my dead mentor.

How does someone become accustomed to such magical visits? Somehow, it doesn't seem that strange to me anymore. After all, everything shown wasn't very farfetched as it turns out. The past I saw is easy to remember clearly as I live in those memories every day. The present, along with this chance to see things outside my normal scope of vision, is a gift even though the truth can be painful. The future shows how truly crucial it is for me to change things; that this path and where it leads is completely unacceptable.

It is within my power to set a new path, one without war and failure. It has to be. Otherwise, why bother to show me these visions at all?

Unfortunately, with this new clarity comes a lack of inspiration as to how I will achieve the miracle of saving my country with so many powerful forces against us. At the very least, I need to return home and apologize to Merle. She never gave up on me even when I had completely lost myself.

Upon opening the door, I find a tray with a simple breakfast and my shirt sitting just outside. Thankfully, I don't have to walk back to the palace with only a cloak to cover my bare skin. The fabric that had been cut during the fight is neatly mended with even stitches matching those currently set into my right side. The girl must have taken and fixed the piece of clothing without my notice. I don't know if I can ever repay her kindness. As I learned from Hitomi at our first meeting, not all people are motivated by the promise of reward; some just naturally want to help.

I eat the crusty bread, soft cheese, and juicy fruit almost greedily. It's been a long time since I actually was hungry. I had forgotten what it was like to purely enjoy a meal. Once full, I pull on the mended shirt, fasten the cape over my shoulders, and head down the narrow stairs. Compared to last night, the main room feels large and abandoned. The faint traces of old smoke hint at the normal capacity, but it feels like a pale memory.

Before I make it to out to the street, another door swings open near the bar, and a familiar hulking man from last night appears carrying a crate filled with clinking glass bottles. He looks even larger up close, but the way his eyes crinkle at the corners upon seeing me is a good sign.

"Good morning, traveler. I hope you slept well." Setting his load on the scared bar top, he dusted off large hands before leaning forward easily.

"Yes, better than I have for a long time." I admit, surprised at the truth behind the words. "Thank you. The room was comfortable and breakfast was greatly appreciated."

"No thanks needed." He waves off my gratitude easily. "One good turn deserves another, right?" The easy set of his broad shoulders tells me how comfortable he seems knowing that we are apparently on the same side. I wonder how this man would act if he were aware that I'm not a traveling swordsman, but his king.

I say a simple goodbye and step out into the bright sunlight, feeling something powerful, hope. Unlike in the past, this isn't unfounded. Several bandits were arrested lost night, and even if they don't give me any new information, it's a few less villains on the street. The problem is that I can't arrest all those bullying me and my people.

Placing the looming gates at my back, I start up the main path to the palace in an entirely different state of mind than the one I left in last night. Something important waits, or rather someone. I could stop a guard and get escorted quickly home, but these last moments as a normal man can be best used trying to think my way out of this mess.

Being the King of Fanelia used to mean something different years ago. I grew up with tales of victory; those men were respected and loved as warriors first and rulers second. No one ever explained the dark side of war to that impressionable child. Blood, death, anger and hate that followed me into peace. How did they manage to change fear into admiration? I still haven't figured out how to live outside the shadows that seem to grow every day.

One thing I do know is I can't wait for Hitomi to be my light in the darkness. One day she might need me to return the favor, and I better be strong enough to be the man she needs. First, I must do that for my people. I have an idea, but the pieces don't quite fit, as if I'm still missing something important.

The farmer last night comes to mind and our need for strong, loyal workers, but we haven't the money to hire extra hands. If only there was a way to get the Arzas wolf tribe to assist. Loyalty and tradition hold more sway with them than money. I bet that with their help, we'd have enough harvest brought in to last the winter and enough profit to start fresh next spring. Trouble is, the pack may be Fanelian but barely so. As our history tells, they are allowed to remain mostly separate or risk an internal war.

I need them to want to help. Otherwise, it will look like I am overstepping, and wolves don't like to be backed into a corner. As it turns out, I know exactly how that feels, and I have to agree. It's not a pleasant sensation to watch helplessly while others steal your freedom. I'd love to bite back at those seeking to take what I fought for, the country I bled for, and could have died for so many times.

Someday those memories won't hurt so much, and the healing starts with facing forward. To do that, I have to admit my mistakes first. I arrive back at the palace. I know the distance was about the same, but it felt so much quicker than the first trip through the city.

What would I give for a few more moments of anonymity? Now that I know the price, I am very aware that it isn't worth it. No, as the distance closes, my life is waiting just beyond the large doors.

Seeing me approach, two guards step forward to intercept and halt my progress. It's only then that I notice that my hood is still up. These men don't know it's their king they are trying to intimidate.

"Halt!" The more senior of the two calls gruffly, hand on the hilt of his sword protectively. "State your business, boy."

Before I can say anything, a commotion behind the armored men has my attention. The new person moves with quick determination, and my heart is full of both guilt and hope. Vibrant pink hair not hidden or tied back curls in the self-made breeze.

"What do you idiots think you're doing?!" Merle demands, standing fiercely between me and the defensive guards, who were just doing their job. Only she would know it's me hidden under this worn cloak.

Stunned, their hands drop away from still sheathed weapons. "We are tasked with protecting the palace and those that live here." His voice no longer sounds threatening when faced with Merle's wrath.

"Then what in all the hells makes you think that threatening your king is the way to do your job?" Tail bristling and eyes narrowed, I'm glad not to be the one facing her anger. It's not a laughable moment, but I can't help smiling softly at my valiant protector. That is until she spun on me. "And Lord Van, you better take off that damn hood!"

Sufficiently cowed, I push the fabric back and instantly the guards move to bow. "At ease." I raise one hand, freezing them without any hard feelings. "It was your duty. You are dismissed."

They return to their posts reluctantly, but between my order and the angry Neko, any sane man would leave too. Speaking of, it's my turn to face down the irate girl. "Merle, I'm so sorry."

"Damn right you better be sorry for making me worry, Lord Van!" she lectured sternly. I open my mouth to apologize for yesterday, but she is having none of it. "No, you don't get to make excuses about running off and scaring me like that." Tears pool in her eyes but don't spill over.

"Why don't you hate me?" Its inexplicable that my violent outburst hasn't completely turned her against me. Nothing could ever make hitting her acceptable. "I'm a monster."

"No, Lord Van, you're hurting, and I can't help you fix the problems if you don't talk to me." She took my hand gently as if I was the delicate one. "I hear the screaming from nightmares. I know you don't eat. You barely sleep. All you ever seem to have is problems without solutions. Lately everything seems worse, and scrubbing your hands till they bleed isn't the way to make them truly clean again."

I'm speechless. How did she know? I've always hidden my insecurities or thought I had been doing an okay job of it. Merle saw through everything and never said a word. All those times she pushed me to eat or spent her time curled up in a chair so I wouldn't be alone, even working all night. She dealt with my dark moods and sullen outbursts.

"I've known you as long as I can remember, Lord Van." Her voice was low and filled with understanding. It brought me back to the war, or at least one specific time.

 _Hitomi had felt my blood lust in battle. The death and pain coating my soul pushed her emotions to send that strange girl home. I should have been happy for her. It's what she wanted for as long as I knew her, but another feeling I couldn't name held me tightly. Zaibach couldn't hunt or use her anymore. Vargus's last promise was kept. Then why did I miss her so much? She was happy now. Why wasn't I able to share those feelings?_

 _Merle found me on that barn rooftop, feeling lost and melancholy. She knew even when I didn't. Love was like a second surprise attack; I never expected it and couldn't protect myself from it._

Now a year later, those blue eyes look knowingly into my tarnished soul once more, and she saw something no one else could, how much I was struggling. Both with the pressure coming from all directions, and darkness I have been fighting from within.

Carefully, the bright haired girl places her other hand on my jaw, forcing me to look directly in her guileless eyes. "Lord Van, doing your best does not mean working yourself to death. At some point, ignoring the pain means you are no longer doing your best."

The lump in my throat made speaking impossible, so instead I gathered her into my arms. The embrace was exactly what I needed. I knew then that the man who would walk away from his only family and abandon the country that needs him, that poor soul, doesn't exist. Striped arms hug me back, and though I may never be worthy of her forgiveness, Merle has already willingly given it.

She squeezed a touch harder than anticipated, pressing on my freshly sewn wound. The sharp intake of air wasn't a hiss of pain, but it might as well have been.

"Lord Van, what have you done to yourself?!" Merle jerked back and pulled my shirt up in the same move.

"It's nothing," I huff, trying to pull the stitched shirt out of her grip and back down unsuccessfully. "Just a small cut. It was already tended and the shirt was mended."

"I can't let you out of my sight for a minute without something happening," she lectured, as if she were my mother. "Come on, Lord Van. This is at least something I can help with."

With no room for argument, Merle nearly drags me to her room. Along the way, I had to explain how I was wounded. Though she is glad to have a few bandits off the streets, she wasn't too pleased with me fighting them alone or while being drunk. Even after assuring her the wound was re-bandaged this morning, Merle still stubbornly wants to look at it.

Stomping around the room, she tosses a bundle at me. "Put that on."

It wasn't a suggestion, more so an order, and I knew better than to argue. Unwrapping the package, I found a simple red tunic that looked like all my other shirts have. As I was pulling it over my head, something felt strange about it. Not bad necessary, but odd like there were gaps where they weren't supposed to be. Slits over both shoulder blades were sewn masterfully to just look like pleats. If I had to make an educated guess, I'd bet a set of wings would fit through without tearing the fabric in the slightest.

Carefully tracing the fine even stitching, I know this piece was handmade with care and skill. "Merle, where did you get this?"

"I made it, but it's just a practice one." She shyly looks away, as if afraid of my reaction. Merle worked hard on this and nothing could hide the dedication she put into every stitch. "It's not anything special."

"No, it's great. I love it." The happiness in her bright eyes makes the truth so much easier to say. This shirt is like me in so many ways; easy to recognize at first but hiding a secret. With everything going on, I forgot so much in such a short time. Hiding who I am helps no one. Only by being true to myself do I break out of the chains binding me to darkness and hate. This time I don't have Hitomi forcing me to see what I've become, but Merle who has always been there and always will be.

I've pushed the things that happened during the war so far down that I couldn't see the good through all the bad. The truth is I overcame more than a normal fifteen-year-old boy ever should. It wasn't my blood or my birthright that saved my skin.

What my people and I need now is for me to be the fighter that once gave others hope. I have a plan, and it's crazy enough it might just work. Merle and her genius shirt design may just be the key to this all working out. I quickly lay out my idea, and though she looks cynical, she is happy enough to humor me. We have two yorkles saddled and head north out of the city.

We ride hard through the crossroads, but slow a good bit when we reach the woods leading towards Arzas. We will be heading to the tribe's home but not directly. There is another task we must complete before that step.

Merle and I stop for lunch near a sun-dappled stream. The earthy breath of spring is stronger here. It takes a good amount of will power to pack up and head back out. It was the right thing to do though, and that was obvious as we came into sight of the border we share with Daedalus. Dark specks scattered across the sky show the proof of Dryden's coded letter. The blockade is a real and serious threat.

Then again, I already knew that. Not that I could explain it to Merle, but her faith in me is, as always, unwavering. This time when we stop only I dismount, handing her the reigns of my beast wordlessly.

"You can do this, Lord Van," she reassures me.

I nod, rolling my shoulders tensely. Turning towards the hovering ships, I lift my face to the sky and let the change flow through my form. The muscles start to stretch and contract painfully, tearing skin but not fabric. The shirt works beautifully as it remains intact and the wings take shape quickly. Large, white masses that should feel heavy but don't, these are a part of me and feel as natural as any extension of myself.

Kicking off from the ground, I beat the strong wings, stirring the air forcefully. I didn't look down at the growing distance between me and the ground or this new wind through Merle's bright hair as I fly away. She grows farther away as my enemies become nearer. I pick out the largest ship easily and aim directly for it. I fly past just enough so I can dive down onto the railing outside the bridge.

My sudden arrival sets off a flurry of activity. Like bugs converging on dropped food. the guards swarm forward. They don't ask questions but move for immediate defense. Keeping the bulky wings out, I draw my sword slowly, threateningly.

The closest soldiers stagger back a step, as if a demon has come to beat down their door. In a way, they aren't wrong. I move towards the hatch leading inside and the man in charge, or at least pretending to be. I'll fight my way through if I must.

A few fighters overcome their fear enough to move against me, but they fail to halt my progress. They are amateurs in this dangerous game I play. The air whistles with the sharp edge of a blade slicing towards me. Ducking below the wasted swing, I disarm the man almost as effortlessly, but I don't pause there. Breaking through the opposition, I enter the pilot house, and the guards move to their new goal, protecting the captain from me.

How silly of them to think I'd waste my effort just to kill one man. No, I have other plans and starting a war isn't one of them. I just can't let them know that.

"Hear me." My voice rings out strongly, silencing the nervous grumbling. "I am Van Salzar de Fanel, King of Fanelia, and you are trespassing in our airspace without permission. This blockade is against the Palas Accords, and continuing your unprovoked actions against my country will no longer be overlooked. Return to your king with a message: the dragon will rise in defense if provoked. If you still seek a fight with me, you will surely find it."

I don't damage a thing on their ship or wound a single soul, but my point is very clear. This cannot go on without action any longer. I exit with far less resistance, and as I fly away, the Egzardian fleet does the same, retreating to pass on my warning to those who had been waiting for me fail. They won't like this, but if anything, pushing back might just give me the space to breathe and find a real solution.

Landing once again on the solid soil of my homeland, I am greeted by a curious Merle and two uneasy animals. She calms the beasts as my wings dissolve into a storm of feathers now that they are no longer needed. Without the protrusions through its slits, the shirt lays flat once more, a truly remarkable gift.

Returning to the road, we head south, but we won't be returning home tonight between the setting sun and my second task. Dusk approaches in purple hues just as Arzas comes into view through the trees. The village nestled deep into the forest carries the traditions of this land in each rustic building, painted symbol, and person who calls it home. The tribe rules here and my title is more honorary than anything.

It is that internal strength I have come to call upon. Two surly looking wolfmen guard the main entrance to the village, and before they can make a move stopping our approach, a booming voice calls out.

"Let my guests through." Rhum steps out into view with a comfortable confidence I envy. "Lord Van and Lady Merle, my two favorite people from the main city. What brings you both all the way out here?"

"A minor pest problem mostly." I smile, dismounting from my yorkle and clasping the beast-man's large forearm with my hand. He grips my slighter arm in a mirrored motion. An old and respectful greeting between our people. "I've also come to ask you to honor me with my first mark."

Merle gasps behind me. She knew I wanted her presence while I asked the tribe for support, but this wasn't common knowledge.

Rhum's expression hardens. "Do you know what you ask, Lord Van? Many look down on the old traditions."

"I am not one of those people," I assure him honestly. My attention is on the tall man in front of me, but that doesn't mean I ignore the crowd gathering in shadows and doorways.

He nods but remains solemn, the grim line of his scruffy jaw tense with an ugly truth. "Some don't think you have earned the right to that symbol."

If a person believes in destiny, then this is my birthright. I have fought for, bled for, struggled for, and given up so much of myself for Fanelia. In the past, this land was separated by tribes and ruled by a single warrior king. He was the strongest among them and stood not as a political figurehead, but as the heart and soul of his people. He was a fair leader who sought justice and prosperity for all that call Fanelia home. Now, I'm asking to be seen as that man by everyone.

"Then they have the right to challenge me." The words, though I mean them completely, send ripples of unease through the crowd. In this, defeat is no light matter. If I lose a challenge, I risk stepping down from my crown. On the other hand, not abiding by this tradition means risking the loss of the tribe's support.

"Lord Van?" Merle's voice wavers with concern, but I just lay a steady hand on her slender shoulder.

"Just believe in me. It will be fine." No sooner have I said when a hulking wolfman pushes through the crowd, heading purposefully towards me. I step away from my only family with what I hope is a reassuring expression. The man is younger than Rhum, possibly closer to Allen's age than my own. We both use keen eyes to study our opponent, although I'm not sure what he sees other than a lanky boy with wild hair and tired eyes.

My challenger wears his long mane of hair in multiple braids close to the scalp over either ear. He walks with the slow, easy gate of one who is completely comfortable in his body, a conviction I lost somewhere.

"Do not assume you are the liedo of us all, little king." His low voice betrays no arrogance, only confidence. "You're barely a man, and yet you claim to be our Jeonsa." The old word for warrior resonates deeply. I know if this man bows, then the others will follow.

I can almost hear one of Vargus's repeated lessons in my mind. _A man will bow only for two reasons: respect or fear. Fear is easy, but it's a cold and lonely reality. It leaves only bitterness in its wake. Respect is harder to gain, since you can't force someone to respect you, Lord Van. All you can do is become a man worth following. The rest will come after._ He may be gone, but the old sword master lives on through me and my actions.

Fear worked temporarily on one of my many enemies, but it would be useless here. The opinion of these people will make a difference, and I need their support, his support. To most of Gaia, I was a main player in the war, but to some, I am still an inexperienced child. This is my chance to change that view. I need them to see me for who I am now. Yes, I'm young, but I've had as many experiences as a seasoned warrior if not more.

I hold my empty palms out facing up towards the man. "By the old laws, the challenger chooses the weapons and method of battle."

His dark eyes narrow as they sweep my thin form, resting a moment on the sword sheathed at my side. "Then I request to fight you, not the blade." Unarmed then, he has measured our differences and has taken the advantage. "First to concede or last man standing."

Merle tenses at my back. This man means to beat the stuffing out of me with the whole tribe watching. The fight will only stop when one man surrenders or can no longer continue. Of course, he intends for me to be the one on the ground.

"Agreed." I nod once, beginning to remove the belted sword at my waist and dagger from my boot. Without looking behind me, I hold the bundle out to Merle, as she is the only person in this world I would trust so thoroughly. Feeling oddly lighter, I face the much larger man. With one last thought, I pull the loose red fabric over my head. The shirt could get torn or damaged in this fight. I value this gift and want to prove I hide no other weapons.

Following my lead, the wolfman also removes his shirt. The contrast between us is overly apparent. Though I have grown in the last year, he must stand nearly two heads taller than me. I'm lean standing opposite someone bulky. My tan skin is marked by white bandages from my recent bar fight, while his dark furred form carries only old scars.

He scoffs at the evidence of my recent scuffle. "It seems as if you have already lost a challenge, young one."

I shrug without arrogance. "A small price for the four bandits now captured and awaiting questioning." A murmur travels through the watching tribe. Though remote and protected, even their tribe has been affected by the roving outlaws. "It won't change the outcome here, unless you plan on withdrawing the challenge."

He stiffens, conflicted. A part of him feels guilty for fighting an injured man, but he knows backing down is the same as giving me his blessing. If this man refuses to fight now, then I've won far too easily. I don't want that any more than he does.

"Fazen, Lord Van, do you wish to continue?" Rhum took one deliberate step between us. Wordlessly, both my opponent and I nod our agreement. "The rules are simple and breaking them means an immediate loss. No biting, gouging, hidden weapons, or below belt strikes."

This meant the only things against the rules were dirty tactics, and this is for both of our protection. After all, the last one could permanently end the Fanel ruling line. With Rhum acting as referee and judge, it will be a fair fight. We nod again, stepping closer. We raise our right hands, so that the tribe leader can grasp each wrist. Knuckles pressed together, we hold position until the Rhum's firm grip drops. He moves swiftly from between us, signaling the start without a word.

Instantly, the air crackles with tension. A meaty fist swings towards my face dangerously fast. It would have been a bad blow if I was there for it to connect with. Both hands up protecting my face, I drop down below his strike, bobbing my head under that first hit. I move my center to the left to avoid his next attack.

For someone so large, my opponent is incredibly quick. His advances are steady and with serious follow through. Taking advantage of our size difference, I move under most of the punches thrown. I deflect the hits I can't avoid with my forearms, elbows, and even hands. Just because they didn't connect with the intended target doesn't mean they leave without any damage. These blows that only glanced off still have remarkable power behind them. If one were to land as intended, that might just be the end of me.

Continuing to slide, dodge, duck, and block should have made him frustrated. Unfortunately, my opponent is as patient as I am. Lucky for me, he was head hunting and not going for body shots. The wide base he uses is powerful, but easy to predict.

Keeping my guard up and my feet moving remains the best course of action. Using minimal motions to deflect each hit kept my head and chest protected, but that doesn't leave much of a chance to throw punches of my own. Pivoting out of his line of attack also disrupts the flow of the continuous strikes. He favors these big, powerful punches, but he doesn't seem to be tired or frustrated by their lack of effect. He's chipping away at me deliberately. I'm also watching my challenger for any slowing or weakness.

At this rate, the fight will never end. I see the straight punch before it happens, and clenching up, I move under his arm just as it extends. Now that I am inside his guard, I collide right into his chest with my arms still up and momentarily stun the wolfman. In the heartbeat that he is off guard, my hands come around his neck. Swiftly, I pull that braided head down, intending to slam my knee into his unprotected face.

Before I can connect, a large hand comes up, blocking most of the impact. He slips from my grip. He just took a decent hit and is slightly less steady on his feet. I'm sure the crowd gathered around us has taken the slight upset with commentary and betting, but I only have eyes for my opponent.

The next punch he throws I sidestep and return with my own shot. He leans backward just out of my shorter range. Again, the counter punch aims for my face. This time I fake a jab, and as he leans away from where he expects the hit to be. I aim lower, landing a solid hit to his torso and knocking the wind from him. Gasping, the beast-man lashes out wildly. His large fist glances off my right side. Normally, this wouldn't have much effect, but my recent wound screams in protest.

It's a desperate but legal hit. With my side throbbing, I know he just gained the upper hand. Sweat beads across my heated skin. From the energy and power he still has, I know there is a great need to end this quickly. Slipping in and out of his attacks while mainly countering has worked well so far, but it won't win at this rate. Most of all, I must bring him down to my level to finish this while I still can.

The next time he moves to throw a punch, I bob under as I have from the beginning. When he winds that thick arm back, I step forward with my left leg, turning into the motion with my whole body. Dropping my right hand down and rotating my arm in a looping motion, my fist forms a circular motion through the air, swiftly overhead above his hands and connects directly into his unprotected jaw. The impact rocks him back, and I use that motion to retract my right arm, pivoting in with my left to jab into his open side. Still on the attack, I sweep his legs out. As he lands hard on the ground, I move over him aggressively.

The air is still and time feels almost frozen as this large fighter stares up at the gloved fist inches from his face. His shoulders drop down as the tension drains out.

"I surrender." As the words register, I step back and move the hand that was poised to strike. Instead, I now offer it to him to help him off the hard-packed dirt. With a small smile, he takes it and stands. He faces me with a new expression, respect. "How is your wound?"

"I'll live," I respond, brushing off the concern. "How is your jaw?"

A low laugh escapes my new friend, and he claps me on the sweaty shoulder. "I'll live."

"Well done, Lord Van." Rhum moves forward towards us with a smile of his own. "Why don't we celebrate? Come, while a feast is prepared, we have much to talk about."

Merle pads over to us through the chattering crowd moving in from all around. Her sensitive nose wrinkles as she nears. "I'm surprised you'd want to be closed in together with this sweating mess." The teasing makes the tribe leader laugh again, and he agrees I should have the chance to clean up first.

Given privacy, I wash quickly. The fighting spirt leaves me as my heart gets the chance to slow down. Now that I can feel more, my forearms are bruised from taking most of the hits, and my side throbs harshly. Just as I am pulling my pants back on, the tapestry over the doorway gapes open.

Merle enters and quickly silences my protests. "Big, tough warrior afraid of a little girl seeing his rear-end?" In her striped arms, she carries my shirt and crested sword along with a fresh roll of bandages. "Thought tending to your side was more important than modesty."

I relax, grateful for her care. She clicks her tongue in disapproval. Her deft hands dab at the new blood oozing sluggishly from the stitched wound. Merle was worried, although she wouldn't directly state so out loud. Once my side is cleanly wrapped, I still her busy hands with my own. "Thank you, Merle."

Softening, she sighs. "If you really want to thank me, you'll stop rushing off into fights so recklessly."

I pull her into a sudden hug. For the first time in a very long, I don't feel the weight of the world crushing me. "I can't make any promises." I smile into her bright hair a moment before releasing the stunned girl. "Come on. Rhum is probably waiting for us."

Fully dressed, I enter the village's central meeting hall. It's a simple building with a large fire pit in the center where my longtime friend is already seated. "Feeling better?" he asks upon my approach.

"Sore, but smelling better." I take a seat on a woven mat next to him.

"For that, we are all grateful," the Wolfman teases. After a moment, his expression sobers and I know now is the time for business. "You came here for help, did you not, Lord Van?"

"I have." I hope my sincerity comes thought along with the words. "Fanelia needs the tribe's support. Aside from the internal problems, we are also being pressured into taking outside help with a great loss. Our very independence is at stake."

"That is too high a price." He agrees, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Arzas holds no great wealth. What can we offer?"

"What I need is the tribe's loyalty more than anything." Having someone I can talk to that doesn't have their own agenda means the world to me in these trying times. "If the harvest is successful this year, then our debts will lessen along with the pressure."

"The world is changing, Lord Van. Traditions are becoming children's stories." Rhum's large hands threaded together thoughtfully. "What makes you believe that the support of a few beast-men can save Fanelia?"

"I have to believe." I meet his dark eyes directly. This is just another battle in a never-ending war. "Now is the time that we need those old traditions the most. I have fought and bled for this land. Nothing can change my commitment to its people. Fanelia's heart remains strong, and I just need your support to show that to the world."

"Then you have it." I breathe a sigh of relief. Before I can thank my old friend, his hand raises into the air, halting me. "In exchange, you will bear the mark of our true leader, the Jeonsa, and hold true to the old ways. This village will be what it was in the past, a second home and refuge for only a worthy king."

I know what it means. The rest of the world may have forgotten Fanelia's past, but we must take our true place. I will have to remind them what it means to be a warrior first and a politician second. "It would be my honor."

He smiles and raises his hand, signaling a girl who I hadn't even realized was waiting. She shuffles over to us with a small table. Her small hands set up needles, bowls, and cloths. It seems Rhum was already prepared for this.

"Do I need to leave?" Merle speaks up, reminding us of her presence and watchful eyes.

"No, you are his family. You may stay unless blood is an issue." I feel better instantly just knowing I'll have her here to support me. Not that I can't do everything alone, but it's nice not to have to.

She scoffs, "If blood were a problem, I wouldn't have survived the war."

With that, Rhum began to mix a bright blue dye from packets of ground pigment and liquid from a mysterious clay jar. The metallic tang permeating the air reminds me of the night I met Hitomi, and I know what will give this tattoo it's color and symbolism.

Curious, Merle leans forward her nose wrinkling in distaste. "What is that smell?"

"Dragon's blood." It is a memorable scent to those of us who have hunted or been hunter by those dangerous beasts. It can only be described as the smell of death and dragon-fire.

"That's disgusting." She grimaced like a person being told to swim in sewage. I shot her a look that said she was welcomed to leave if there was a problem. She put up clawed hands in mock surrender. "I'm just saying."

"Are you ready to begin?" Rhum asked, trying to hide his low chuckle and failing.

Taking a deep breath, I know these next words have never been so true. "I am."

As directed, I rest my forearm on the table so that the bicep of my right arm is relaxed and towards Rhum. Without any more instruction or conversation, he begins. The long needle dips into the blue dragon ink and then taps sharply into my skin. It takes some will power to not jerk away from the uncomfortable sensation. Unlike other pain I've felt before, this is like a nail digging into my skin or millions of bug bites, annoying but tolerable.

Time passed. Word came that the feast was ready, but Rhum continued to work silently. Tap, tap, tap; dip, tap, tap. Every so often, he pauses to wipe the area with a rag that started out white. It is now mottled with blue from the dye and red from my blood.

The only sounds in the room, aside from the continuous rhythm of the needle, is the light breath and steady heartbeats of my companions. Merle's tail sometimes makes a swishing sound on the woven floor mat, but she hasn't spoken. We all seem to find something different in the silence.

Rhum has a small smile on his concentrating face, which leads me to think he is pleased about his role in history. Merle leans into my free left side slightly, as if curious of the progress but unwilling to ask. In this quiet time, I think about a little bit of everything.

I think about the strange visits that will remain my secret. The face of my past dripping with blood and regret. My father who showed me the present, one he would never be a part of. A glimpse of a sad possible future, and one last lesson from my old mentor. I contemplate the uphill climb we still have ahead of us and the outside powers waiting for an opportunity to seize advantage. Feathers that I have ignored, denied, and hated; yet they carry me impossibly forward.

Most of all, I think of green eyes. What would Hitomi would say if she could see me now? Would she wrinkle her nose at the dragon blood stench like Merle? Could she smile softly like Rhum? Though not sure of her stance on tattoos, I choose to imagine her humming faintly as her slender hand grasps mine.

A small flash of pink light flares for only an instant, and I can't be sure if I dreamt it or not. Somehow, I feel the burning of a fresh symbol being inked not into my right bicep, but wrapping around my left arm. There is a warm pressure against my chest where the pendant should lay but isn't. It feels like the soft brush of short, silky hair. Hitomi sits in my lap contentedly. She looks up at me with bright eyes filled with love.

Then just as suddenly as it came, the vision is gone. I feel as though something priceless just slipped away. Was that another possible future? It must be. I might have a chance to hold Hitomi close, bound by a symbol of eternal love etched into my still bare left arm. A tightness settles around my heart, and it can only be described as optimism. I can only pray that this path I now walk will lead her back into my arms, and that it'll make me the kind of man she deserves.

Someone clears their throat. I find the stabbing pain is gone, but a tight stinging remains in the raw flesh. Rhum has finished.

"Well, that's it." He dips a fresh cloth in a bowl of water, dabbing the last of the excess dye and blood away. "Would you like to see my work, Lord Van?"

Before I can respond, Merle's hand darts forward to grab the looking glass off the table. "Oh, please, can I show him?"

The wolf man chuckles at her enthusiasm. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Kneeling by my side, she holds the simple mirror steady. The tan skin is slightly swollen where the needle punctured repeatedly, leaving vibrant blue ink behind. Up closer to my shoulder is a large diamond about as long as my hand from fingertip to palm. It is just as wide across with the center of it being uncolored flesh. A smaller diamond forms a space below the tip of the larger symbol, as if it was cut from the one above. To normal eyes, the geometric design is simple, even plain, but I know better. It couldn't be more complicated.

Is a king the heart of his people, or are they what makes him whole? If my people didn't believe in me, then I wouldn't deserve this mark any more than if I wasn't willing to fight for them. There couldn't be a single victory without sacrifice.

After the new tattoo was gently rubbed with cooling herbal salve, the festivities began. Members of the tribe entered with food, and music started from somewhere. The lodge, which was once quiet, quickly filled with the happy noises of life and a community that fully accepted me.

I ate the delicious dishes placed in front of me and held conversation with Merle and the beast-men seated all around the room. The night continued. When everyone was full, the music and talking grew in volume along with their enthusiasm. It could also be attributed to the flowing of drinks, but I remained sober, not needing alcohol to enjoy the festivities.

A tap on my shoulder drew my attention behind me. Fazen, the challenger, knelt behind me. He spoke, but I couldn't hear the soft words over the climbing noise levels. Most of the town was crowded into the main hall. I tapped my ear to let the man know I couldn't hear him. Then I pointed towards the door. He nodded and gave me room to stand.

I touched Merle's shoulder lightly, letting her know I would be right back. She glanced nervously between me and the man who had tried to beat the stuffing out of me only a few hours ago, but let me go without protest.

Stepping out into the night air was almost like landing on another world. A few people mingled outside, and soon the music along with dancing would spill out to fill the darkness with life. For now, it remains a place of muted sound.

"Can I help you?" My words could be rude, but curiosity turns them inquisitive. He drops to the dirt at my feet in silent response, kneeling in submission. "Stop that."

I grab his arm, trying to pull him back up, but he remains stubbornly on the ground. With a sigh, I sit down so we are at the same level. "You know I wasn't born to be king?"

His head shot up, interested but quiet.

"My brother should have been the king, but he failed the rite of dragon slaying and disappeared. Mother went looking for him and never returned. So, at five moons old, I became the last Fanel, an orphan, and the next king. I succeeded where Folken failed, and then the war started. I never asked for any of this, but no matter how difficult it's been, I was never alone. Even now, the rest of the world plots against Fanelia, yet we must remain strong. I can't stand without your support."

"I called you a child." He speaks slowly, unsure.

"To many, that is what I am." I shrug, though the fresh mark on my arm feels tight with healing. "Recently, I thought selfishly of turning my back on the people who need me the most. I wanted to run from the pressure and expectations, but then I realized something. Fanelia needs a strong king the way I need a strong Fanelia. There can't be one without the other. I can become the man, the ruler my people deserve, and it starts with becoming the man I want to be."

"I believe in you." He truly means it. I like to think that someday this strong, sure man could be not just a subject, but possibly a friend.

I could always use more of the latter.

 **To Be Continued….**

 **So, I had a lot of starts and stops, at least until I began to work on the fight scene. I watched a bunch of youtube videos about fighting someone larger and stronger than you. Instructional videos mostly, and the walk-through pace they used helped greatly with writing. Most of it was street fighting with some boxing and grappling. I used more of the boxing for my Wolfman Fazen. The name I used for him was the last name of one of the instructors, it seemed fitting. The elliptical punch Van used to clock him on the jaw was one of his. It was a neat move to watch where the smaller man's entire body gets into the action. Dropping the fist down then circling back and then coming down on the taller man's jaw with extra force.**

 **Aside from the fighting that earned the wolf tribe's support this chapter had three very important events that effect the future. First intimidating the leviship blockade showed the fear Van still strikes into the heart of the other countries. This will be important when strength and power shifts in Fanelia's favor once more.**

 **Secondly Van's tattoo is indeed the one from the movie and though this is a continuation of the series solely I like the contrast it gives and have added the lore that it is an ancient symbol of warrior kings. Van has that in his blood and soul, in his future. The vision he has of holding Hitomi while he gets a tattoo on his left arm is a throwback to than end of More Than Skin Deep, he gets inked with a symbol that he married his soulmate.**

 **Lastly he hugs Merle twice in this chapter first in begging forgiveness, secondly in relief and love. She knew the whole time how tough a time Van was having she could smell the blood from his abused hands, and saw all the pain he had been hiding. This is probably the first time in a long time he's even been able to eat let alone enjoy three meals in one day.**

 **I've had some rough spots in my life, but nothing like this. PTSD, depression, anxiety and such are not my areas or expertise. I read lots of articles and even used some quotes that spoke to me.**

 **On that note, please review. I honestly want to know what you think.**


	5. Lose Ends

**Well hello there. So, this was written… a bit ago, and Meghanna used her valuable time to edit as always. Then it sat in my email for about a month. A very busy, mentally and physically exhausting month. The Epilogue is even sitting there as we speak. Yes, it is almost over.**

 **Long story short, work, work, work, and no wifi. I'm sitting in a Starbucks with ear buds in and laptop on a table. After everything I just want to watch Netflix in veg, but I should do something productive even on my one day off. If spending the morning working still counts as a day off… semantics.**

 **Enjoy!**

 **Surface Tension**

 **Chapter 5- Lose Ends**

Everything looks different when we return to the city streets early the next morning. Instead of disrepair and squalor, I see chances. Each problem turns into a list of improvements and each step that needs to be taken.

When I left yesterday, it was just Merle and I against the world, but now things have changed. We are not alone as half the wolf tribe rides behind us. I feel them at my back, just as I am aware of the eyes watching and the tightness of my freshly scabbed tattoo. The mark shines like a blue beacon on my shoulder.

I expected this, the attention I would draw, but experiencing reality is a whole different story. Imagine riding as head of this procession and passing a specific tavern. People had started lining the streets. Most faces in the crowd passed in a blur though not all. A hulking bartender catches my attention, but it's the long-haired waitress at his side, the one with the hand over her mouth in shock, that almost makes me pause. Poor girl just realized she kissed the king of all Fanelia a few nights ago.

Merle rides up next to me with questions in her large blue eyes. "I was thinking that it is time for a haircut." I ride on, followed closely by the Neko who knows I'm lying.

"Here I thought you wanted to be more like Allen." She quipped with a smirk. Resisting the urge to play into her game of teasing, I silently roll my eyes but can't help the small smile I wear.

When we arrive back at the palace, I am surprised to find none of my advisors have come to greet us. Then I hear that they are involved in a closed-door meeting and the topic of discussion is, even more surprising, me. A week ago, I would have responded with rage; my temper making those men cower in fear. Now I know better. My own council does not respect me, but that will change. I will see to it today.

I leave Merle and swiftly head towards the meeting room with its guarded doors. I don't need an entourage to remind them of my power. That strength has always been inside me. It was I that forgot it and let others echo doubts in my ears.

No more darkness. It will remain in the past where it belongs. The men stationed outside the council room startle at my approach, but I remain calm. There isn't a point to scare them into complying. They already move to open the doors against the orders of the men inside.

"Wait," I say, halting their movements. "I won't have you risking their anger. That is my job." Shocked, they stand aside as I open the doors on my own. I don't storm in or yell; I walk in calmly.

"I see my invitation to this meeting must have been misplaced." My advisors move to stand, but I halt them with a simple motion of my hand. "Continue. I wish to hear what is so important that it could not wait for your king."

Taking my seat, I watch as some men swallow hard, and others cast sidelong glances at their sweating coconspirators. Still, they hesitate.

I lean back in my chair with a sigh. "Would you rather I leave, so that you can continue to talk behind my back?"

"No, Lord Van." One man speaks up hesitantly. "We would have gladly have included Your Majesty if you could have been found for such an invitation."

"Then by all means, speak as if I were not here. No one had an issue with that until a miet ago." I motion with my right arm, and eyes are drawn to the blue mark shining with salve on my arm.

"The contract is finalized and ready to be sent. Once the terms are agreed upon, Miss Marie LeDoux will come as your bride to Fanelia." I should be angry that they have decided who I would marry without my permission, but they are not wrong. The merchant daughter of the richest man in Cesserio is a fine choice. Their country has been one of the few to not move against us with bandits, blockades, or old debt. No, they only want Escaflowne, but they might settle for a stronger tie.

She would be a good choice, but I don't know her. I won't ever love her, and she may just be sold off to another well-connected man. She deserves a better chance to be happy than I can give her.

"That won't be necessary." They freeze at my words. "I'm sure that the dowry would help our situation, but there are other ways."

Nervous looks pass around the room. "Then the Lady Hudson could be considered-"

"No, I don't think you understand." My voice is even and without anger. "I will not marry at this time. If you send a contract, it will be broken. It will only cause greater stress on our already fragile bonds, and we can't afford that. These women are not tools, and I am not a beast to be used for breeding. If I take a wife, she will come to a strong Fanelia, one without fear of outside influences."

The silence is a living thing controlling the room.

"My absence has been noted, but no one has asked about the urgent business that took me away from the city." More uneasy looks travel from man to man. As they seem unwilling to ask, I continue. "No one is curious about my appearance either. It is strange that advisors, who don't trust me to pick my own bride, aren't concerned at all when their king suddenly goes missing and reappears tattooed."

Murmurs move from one man to another, but I finally have their full attention. It's been generations since a king of Fanelia bore this mark. Because of alliances with larger countries, there came a need to follow their lead; the old traditions of my country became children's stories. Now we need to strengthen our roots once more and become the strong, independent land of our fathers. Being different can be isolating, but it can also show the true mettle of a people.

For the first time, the councilmen truly listen to me. I was never given a choice to be the next king when Folken failed. When I legally became a man at fifteen moons, Vargus may have asked if I was ready to kill a dragon, but the only acceptable answer was "yes." When I returned with the energist, it was known I would be king the next day. There wasn't another option. War broke out, and from that point on, revenge made the decisions for me. Hitomi was the first person to tell me I had another path, but I was too stubborn listen. After the war ended, it still felt like I was living someone else's life, following a stolen destiny and letting others choose my actions.

This is my life, my country, and my future. No one has the right to tell me how it should be run. The wolf tribe's support does not instantly fix things, but it is a step in the right direction.

We have bandits in jail who will gladly attest to Basram's involvement in weakening us and a border clear of Ezgardian ships for the time being. Now any assistance can safely travel through. A good harvest will lessen the debts to Daedalus. If I can be assured a good price for building materials, we will be set for reconstruction.

The council agrees to my plans and that any decision regarding a future queen can wait. They won't give up entirely on a marriage contract. Still, a stronger Fanelia means better candidates, and that at least gets their general approval. I won't speak of my desire to wait for Hitomi. With our bond cut, she may never return, but the spark of hope still lives on.

It takes hours to iron out the details of the plan I set in motion with a solo flight, a fist fight, and a tattoo. Not necessarily a traditional problem-solving solution, but it seems to be working for me.

I eat dinner with Merle and decide to turn in early. The bruises from yesterday have bloomed darkly along my forearms, the stiches in my side itch with healing, and the ink under my skin needs more salve. In general, I am a mess and could only benefit from rest at this time. For once, I will listen to the needs of my body.

Nearing my room, something almost solid forces me to pause, like walking into an invisible wall. Unable to go forward, I look at my surroundings only to find that I am located right outside Folken's door. It's a room I haven't entered since returning from the war. It's not a flash of light or unexpected vision that draws me towards the locked door. Something stronger, like a hand firmly squeezing my heart, propels me. If I don't enter the room, I might stop breathing.

My hand shakes trying to find the key. I feel like the ground is about to open up beneath my feet, and I have no wings to rescue myself. Heart beating erratically, the keys slip between my numb fingers and clatters to the floor. Frustrated, I rattle the knob as if it will change the fact that this door is always locked under my strict orders. The latch stays firmly in place, but something wants me to get through no matter what.

I take a few steps away. I drop my undamaged left shoulder down and charge it into the solid wood. The impact rattles my teeth and sends shooting pain in all directions. The door holds firm, but there is more give when I try once more. Backing up a little farther, I charge more aggressively. When my shoulder collides a second time, the wood door frame splinters loudly like a canon shot.

When I pull on the knob, it comes free easily and the hinges groan, hanging slightly uneven. It opens at last. Dust swirls in the stagnant air. Coughing, I hold one gloved hand over my nose and mouth while fanning with my other. Darkness and stale air, it isn't what Folken's room would be like if he had lived.

If my brother had survived the war, these walls would be lined with book shelves. Presently, all the knowledge that could have filled this room remains packed in crates and boxes. I imagine thick fabrics in neutral colors draped simply. It would have been full of sunlight and melodious whistling.

Now, it feels cold and lifeless like a grave. The last time we spoke, I was full of anger and mistrust. I doubted his dedication to stop Dornkirk and end Zaibach's crusade for power. I expected another knife in my back, a betrayal that never came. He gave his life to atone for his mistakes, and he never once asked for my forgiveness.

Hitomi said he was at peace, and I believe her. She didn't tell me about the last moments of his life for my own sake. Folken had been dying, and his last wish was to end the insanity he helped begin. After losing the Neko twins he took that guilt as another sin, though it was never said out loud, but they were his family just as Merle is mine. He lived with a terrible darkness smothering him every day.

Now, the only way I can make things right with my brother is to live in search of the peace he died for. To find a solution without bloodshed or loss. An impossible dream for anyone else, but it is worth the effort. The stuffy, dusty room is at least something that I can fix. Opening the shuttered windows and letting the cool night air in helps instantly. It seems like the world breathes a little easier. Maybe it is just me.

Whatever forced me into this lonely space hasn't revealed itself yet. I begin opening boxes and unpacking books. I don't understand half of the titles of these books, but I can picture Folken reading each and every worn tome from cover to cover. Long fingers both flesh and metal trace the lines of text in my mind or write notes in the margins. Something about adding a bit of organization and warmth to the room make me feel closer to him. It's something I haven't felt since before he disappeared. Hours must have passed from the position of the moons traveling across the night sky.

I know deep down that this isn't Folken's room, and he won't ever walk these floors or read a single book again. Maybe that is why I've opened everything but the long trunk at the foot of the bed. He'll never wear the long robes or spend the nights studying. I know he is buried next to father and that Escaflowne sleeps watching over them both.

A breath of wind lifts the hair off the back of my neck, and it reminds me of how Folken, young happy Folken, would ruffle my hair as a small child. _"Little Van, with the hair made to be messy."_ I can almost hear his teasing voice on the breeze.

"If it gets any longer, you'll have birds nesting in it." I jump slightly and spin around to find I am not alone. Folken, with the spiked hair, severe eyes, and mechanical arm, is standing right behind me. He glances around the room for a moment before his expression softens. "It looks nice. A few more book shelves and this would make a fine library."

My mouth is dry, but I somehow find the words. "How are you here? Haven't I learned my lesson?"

"I am not here to teach anything." His translucent fingers ghost over the writing on a few of the worn spines I've categorized.

"Then why have you come?" I feel lost in his presence. I don't know how to be around him. "Are you here to see if your wish for peace has come true? I'm trying to build a better Fanelia, one without a need for fighting or death, just like you wanted."

"Who are you really doing this for?" his low voice questions. It makes me pause to wonder. It was his dream, but why have I fought so hard to make it reality?

The answer is inked into my skin. "For Fanelia. Our people deserve a world where they can grow without fear and where their children won't be killed for being in the wrong place or for being a different species."

"I see." His mouth quirks up in an echo of his old smile. "Vargus would be proud."

"Is he the only one?" The words came out, choked with emotion without meaning to. After all this time, I am seeking his approval. The younger brother in me still needs his validation.

"Does it matter?" He passes in front of the window, but his hair and clothes don't move with the wind like mine do. No matter what is said here tonight, he is still dead.

"It does to me." I should hate how true it is, but I don't. It is freeing. Even if this is a dream or a vision, it is a gift.

He takes a deep, but unnecessary, breath. "Will you do me a favor, Van?"

"Anything." It may not change the fact that he died with me still hating him, but it will matter.

"Open my trunk." He gestures to the one thing still locked in this room. "I borrowed something important before my death. Could you return it for me?"

"I will," I say.

Folken starts to fade quickly. He nods and something strange begins to happen. His hair lengthens and falls more naturally. A simple outfit of a tunic and breeches replaces the long, formal robes. Most importantly, his right arm is flesh once more. This is the man that Hitomi must have seen. He seems happy, peaceful..

Something heavy lifts. Although I am alone once more, the room no longer feels like a tomb. Folken is right; it will make a fine library. The chest is fastened tight, and ramming my shoulder into it won't help this time. I need a key.

Where would Folken have hidden a key? It clicks: a book. He would have placed it inside one of these volumes. But which one? One about science? Atlantis? It has to be something that mattered to him. Somewhere no one would ever look.

I scan the shelves, pull off books, flip through pages, and even check the spines. Nothing. Where did he linger? What tomes did he trace? I pass the window, retracing his steps. Frustrated, I place my forehead on a higher shelf and try to think. My eyes land on a title, _The Power of Luck: Making Your Own Fortune_. I remember this book. It is one I've seen in Dryden's library. Why would Folken have a book on business?

Wait, what were his special warriors called? The gold and silver twins? The Luck Soldiers! This is it.

The book feels like every other, but I know I am right. Flipping to the center, there isn't a carved out hollow or any other tell-tale sign, but something shifts as I bend it all the way open. The spine doesn't move like it should. The leather binding is loose on one side, and as I widen the hole with my fingers, something hard falls out into my open palm. It's a simple brass key that fits easily into the lock.

The latch clicks, and the lid opens on well-oiled hinges. I'm curious and somewhat worried as to what could be so important that his ghost needs this last favor to set things right. I move aside clothes, parts that can only be spare pieces to maintain his arm, and a journal that might be too hard for me to read. I see nothing that could need returning. At the bottom of the trunk is a bundle of cloaks. They seem oddly bunched up when everything else is so neat.

As I start to move it, I know this is what I've been looking for. Pulling roughly at the fabric, I feel it tear from one end, revealing a large pink energist set into an elaborate sword hilt. Suddenly numb, my hands let the ancient Atlantian key drop back into the mess I've made of Folken's personal belongings.

It's been here under my nose the whole time. This is why Chid would tear apart countries and never find a single clue. What am I supposed to do with this? How did Folken get this out of Zaibach? What was he intending on doing with such a priceless artifact?

Folken was smart. I can only guess as to his motives, but maybe this was his exit strategy, a bargaining chip if things didn't go according to plan. He could have shut off the power spot if the allies had not turned the tide. He would have needed a way to make himself indispensable as well, but things fell apart too soon. It no longer mattered how things would end, because the cost was too high.

The key was useless while the machine was active, and killing the emperor was yet another calculated risk. Now, it's my turn to take a chance.

This is the missing piece I've been praying for. My way out of the darkness. I need parchment, because I have a letter to write to Freid.

 **The End… Or to Be Continued…**

 **As you know there is an Epilogue so the main story is wrapped up, but I didn't want to say it was finished since it seems like less people pay attention one those two words show up. You'll want to stick around the last bit is pretty fun, and introduces a few familiar faces.**

 **Folken and Van finally got to make peace. If you've read the other story you know he shows up as the Ghost if Future for Hitomi. As for Van's trial, it couldn't have ended up any other way. This is how he became the strong steady man Hitomi needs to survive her own problems, but the darkness never really leaves a person. The scars will always be there, but every day they heal a little more. I personally don't have firsthand experience to draw on for the PTSD and depression that plague the young king, but I read a lot to try and understand where he is coming from. Also, what he needed the most, someone just to listen. Please don't be upset if my portrayal is a little off mental illness effect everyone differently.**

 **I personally struggle with a fear of failure, and the belief that I just get in the way. I have had people in my life that liked to remind me how useless I am. That I can't do anything right… so I over compensate by trying to help in any way I can. I thrive off the need to be useful. Sometimes it works in my favor since I am a cook after all, but other times I get very little sleep and stress myself out when I feel like I'm failing. Might be why I connect with Van so much. I love watching him get stronger with every fight even as he chips away bits of himself to do it.**

 **Enough of that! I really can't wait to hear what you think, and I promise it won't take this long to get you the last bit. My goal is one week. It's not a promise though, I can't handle breaking promises. Please Review!  
**


	6. Epilogue- Stronger Each Day

**Sorry about the delay. Life's been pretty busy, also lack of Wifi. I'm having a pretty rough time at work. The slightest thing goes wrong and suddenly all the good I've done doesn't seem to matter. Bah! I need this, I need something good and uncomplicated. I need to finish this, to complete something with no negative feedback, I hope.**

 **Epilogue- Stronger Each Day**

I want to go home, but I have any choice in the matter. My attendance here is mandatory; it is my birthday celebration, after all. Seventeen moons and others still dictate my life. Well, that might be a touch strong, but I resent the fact that Millearna, Crown Princess of Asturia, didn't give me a chance to decline her generous gift. I'd rather have a quite dinner with Merle or music and dancing around a bonfire in Arzas.

Instead, I am dressed in fancy clothes, listening to classical music, and surrounded by people who see success as something that can be bartered with charm and political ties. I don't belong here, but these surroundings come with the territory. I am a king. Though the position originally came to me because I was the only one left of my bloodline, I have since earned my place, so to speak.

Under the fine brocade vest, embroidered in red and gold, I wear one of Merle's tunic shirts in starched white linen. Beneath the fancy clothes and golden circlet at my brow, it is still me. My arms are bare for all to see the blue diamonds that mark me as a true warrior king of Fanelia. Most people here don't understand what it means, but they do recognize that I am different from everyone else in this room. They want to win favor from the pilot of Escaflowne, the young man who rebuilt a country in ruins.

I didn't fight all those external powers and pressures, so they could follow me around now like worshipers kowtowing to their god. It's sickening but understanding. Still, it doesn't mean I enjoy or appreciate it in the slightest.

After the midnight visitors from the otherworld, things started to happen quickly. The Wolf tribe assisted in bringing in a record breaking harvest. With a competitive market value that was more than adequate for winter preparations, we were able to reduce our debt to Daedalus by more than half. After receiving my letter, Chid and a delegation from Freid arrived at the city. I presented my rare find, and though I was offered a large reward which overshadowed the loans others would have given at far greater costs, I turned it down. All I wanted in return was a stronger friendship with Freid. Along with that bond came a very good price for stone and building materials. These things we sorely needed, and we could now afford to buy outright with our own power. With these new materials, we finally began rebuilding.

In this last year, things in Fanelia have changed drastically, and the world knows it. Along with these improvements, the pressure to marry has also increased greatly. I hold strong to my belief I have time later, much later, to marry and father heirs. Sadly, that doesn't mean there isn't a line of high-born, well-connected women waiting to dance with me. They clamor for my attention and favor. All I want is to become invisible.

It was almost better when I was poor and desperate. At least then, people talked about me, not to me. I've never been a fan of being center stage in these events, and now I have no choice. I've been approached by enough possible brides and their chaperones to last me a lifetime.

"Oh, Van, come on! You can't be having a bad time at your own party." The sing-song voice floats up beside me, followed by the rustling of layered lavender skirts that match Millearna's intelligent eyes.

"Who ever said that?" I raised an eyebrow which wasn't hidden behind my shaggy bangs. The negative side of wearing my hair shorter these days is that people can see more of my face.

"Well, I did, silly." She props a hand on one hip, daring me to argue with her. "I went through all the trouble of dragging you out of your self-imposed isolation. So, as a favor to me, you could at least pretend to have fun."

I sigh and try to smile, but it's forced. If it were Merle, she'd playfully hit me. Instead, Millearna tosses her golden hair over one shoulder and waits for me to comply. "If I could not feel like I am being sold to the highest bidder, it would improve my night."

"Welcome to life as a royal." She rolled her eyes like I should know better. I do, but that doesn't mean I like it. "I wanted to run from it too, but it didn't help in the slightest."

"Speaking of which, how is Dryden?" I try to turn the conversation away from me at least for a moment.

"Mostly sad. He is missing your party." She smiles wistfully, but it quickly turns calculating. "Is there someone you'd rather have here to celebrate with?"

I don't want to think about Hitomi, but I can't help myself. What would it be like if she were here at my side? Would Millearna dress her up again to see the reaction? Is she even still the same girl that would blush and stutter when embarrassed?

It's asking too much to hope that I can avoid an arranged marriage, because she'll come back to me. It might be impossible. I can't be sure that we are meant to be, and everything will work out like a fairytale.

When I don't respond, the golden-haired princess pats my tattooed shoulder and heads back into the fray, mingling with ease. I'm alone again, if only temporarily. I've already danced with more than half the eligible women in the room, and that bunch included the three front runners from a year ago. Lady Hudson, beloved by my council for her wealth, is already engaged to another. The general's daughter, with her tanned skin and watchful eyes, would rather people watch than dance with me again. Lastly, the girl who would have been my fiancé if I hadn't halted the contract, Marie LeDoux, is a pleasant dance partner, although a bit too shy to every be compatible as more than that.

There isn't anything wrong with any of those girls, except for the fact that none of them are Hitomi. I've had no more visons or visitors, and the connection is still lost. I maintain a personal belief that there is more to our story.

Taking advantage of the brief moment without a forced dance partner or conversation, I make my way to the side of the room and the doors leading out into the gardens. The night air is cool, hinted with salt and blooming blossoms, the combination is quite refreshing. Music and chatter from the ball float on the breeze, muffled but not entirely gone. Light from the sister moons shines brightly down, and I find a sort of peace that drains the tension from my shoulders.

It's one thing to miss her, but life still goes on even though she is gone. I knew it would. Though I may never see her face, be the subject of her visions or temper, or hold Hitomiin my arms, I still hold her in my heart.

Even with Fanelia on the mend, I have plenty of work to do. Still, I somehow find the time to dream of a future where Hitomi can see a land at peace and fully healed. I think it would mean a lot to her, as it does to me.

I still hold closely to the night where Rhum inked my symbol, and I felt as though I could touch a future, one where the green-eyed girl was my wife. Somedays it feels impossible, but I have lived through more incredible things in my short lifetime than anyone ever thought possible. What is one more impractical dream in the long run?

"Hitomi, I hope you are doing well." I speak softly into the night sky. "Fanelia is doing just fine, and so am I."

I know I'm talking to myself like a crazy man, but I don't mind. Sometimes, all it takes is a little bit of crazy to feel better. Feeling less stressed by all the attention, I decide it is time to rejoin the festivities before Millearna sends out a search party to drag me back.

Realizing that I haven't seen Merle in a while gives me a good excuse to stay out of the dance rotation. I come across Allen first, and he pulls me into his group easily.

"There you are, Van." The long-haired knight seems unchanged by time with his effortless charisma and charming smile. "Having a good time, I hope."

"If I'm not, will you report me to Millearna?" I tease with a noncommittal shrug.

"It can be our secret." He laughs lightly, knowing the threat of being on the princess's bad side. "Are you hiding from eligible ladies or looking for a certain Neko?"

"A bit of both," I admit honestly. "Mostly the second, though I think I've stepped on enough dainty toes for the night."

Again, the knight laughs, and I don't mind that it is at my expense. "I see that Vargus didn't teach you dance lessons." Despite our past differences, I do think of him as a true friend.

"If he had, it would have been a terrifying experience." Shuddering, I attempt to ignore the terrible image Allen has placed in my head.

"Well, Merle was last spotted talking with the youngest princess of Cessrio. If you're lucky, she might still be there." As I turn to go, his strong hand sheathed in a white glove stops me. All the joking is gone from his face and stance. "Have you gotten another letter from _**Leon**_?"

"I have. He would be here drinking wine and flirting with pretty ladies otherwise." The first ship to arrive in Fanelia after I spooked the blockade was Dryden. He's been acting as a good informant for me ever since. I have no doubt that Millearna is his true master, but the intelligence passed my way has been priceless.

"Very true." Allen releases me and quickly resumes his prior confident ease. "Well, if he can be believed, then you should take this chance to get to know the Princess before her name comes across your desk."

I don't answer and just nod before turning to find Merle. Somehow, I pray that she isn't with the girl in question, the one who recently suffered a broken engagement. If she was offered as a bride, my advisors would die from joy. So, I hope my adopted sister is alone.

Since the coded letters started, I've learned so much, some that I never would have guessed. I knew the war caused ripples through all the kingdoms, but I never expected to the extent that was the reality I suffered through. It seems that Fanelia wasn't necessarily the main target, but more of a means to an end for the larger countries.

I guess it could all be traced to the Atlantis machine and that psychotic zone of absolute fortune. When Zaibach retreated, everyone took it as a chance to seize power for themselves. While Allen and I were fighting each other, a squadron from Cessrio overtook the royal guard of Daedlus, the guard that was protecting the oldest prince. Once the dust settled, it seems Daedlus had lost, no survivors.

When the crown prince never returned home, the king in his grief took it out on those closest to him. Suddenly, the second prince, Caine, had to fill his brother's shoes. His fiancée, the princess from Cessrio, the country who killed an innocent man, was sent home with a broken contract. Her kingdom, fearing retribution for the death of the eldest prince, wanted Escaflowne to protect themselves.

The ripples didn't end there. The dead prince had been married to a princess from Ezdigardia, and since she hadn't given him an heir, the widow was sent home. Daedlus had to repay her dowry, and they called in the debt that had grown over the years while Fanelia was without a king to keep the council in check.

The blockade by Ezdigardia on my border was, in part, to punish Daedlus for sending their princess back a widow. Meanwhile, the bandits were Basram trying to rebuild their wealth after the losses they took using an experimental bomb that killed allies as well as enemies. They feared war from all sides, and that is why Basram wanted our dragons, to expand their army in case of retribution. Ezdigardia wanted to expand their control into my kingdom in hopes of finding a way to make up for losing their connection to my neighbor in the north.

If I faltered for one second, these four countries would have torn my homeland apart for their own gain and to make up for how they had been hurt. All of them had suffered when that damn machine convinced them to throw logic and caution to the wind. In all reality, Freid didn't just want a priceless artifact returned. It seems with the machine destroyed, power had been leaking for a year. It was never about pride; they needed the sword to close off the connection to the source, to finally end this once and for all.

Fanelia was never the main objective, merely another casualty in the war. We've all finally began to truly heal. So, after all that, I hope the princess who was a pawn in the center of this mess isn't offered as a bride. I don't want to get pulled back into that drama.

Bright pink hair comes into view, and though she is deep in conversation, I don't have a clear view of her companion. As I near them, the first thing I see is short, honey colored hair, and my heart nearly stops. It can't be Hitomi, right?

I should be frozen, but I find myself with my hand on a shoulder and spinning the girl around. Luckily, I didn't hug her like I instantly wanted to, because the shocked eyes looking into mine are hazel, not green. This is not Hitomi.

Up close, I can see this girl is rather tall, and where the seer was built for speed, this is a fighter like me. My throat tightens painfully. Her hair is the right color, but that's it. Her hair is probably about shoulder length with the ends tucked up, so it appeared boyishly short from far away. I drop my hand away like the contact burns, but the damage is already done.

"Eva, this man with the inappropriate touching is my brother, Van King of Fanelia." Merle's voice snaps me back into myself. "Van, my friend who you just grabbed is Eva, third princess of Cessrio."

How could I have thought that Hitomi would just magically appear in the middle of an Asturian ballroom? When did I become such a hopeless romantic?

"It's uh- it's nice to meet you." The girl who I mistook for Hitomi stutters slightly, not like the pretty ladies flaunting themselves around me all night. She looks embarrassed as her hand goes to her short locks. "I was just telling Merle about how my hair got messed up."

"Sorry." I don't know if I'm apologizing for startling her or making her uncomfortable. "I can go."

"No!" she blurts quickly, nervousness leaving all at once. She enters story-telling mode. "I've been growing my hair long, for forever it seems. It seemed like it was the only lady-like thing about me. Aside from sword-fighting, I finally convinced everyone I was ready to try dueling with guymelifs."

Really getting into the action, the princess held the extra fabric of her long dress in one hand and the other out as if grasping an invisible weapon. "Getting used to the controls didn't take long at all, and the fight was exciting. Working on my timing, I was able to press an advantage and win my first melif fight. Unfortunately, as I was climbing down, my hair had gotten tangled on the controls. It was a mess, completely knotted, and they hand to cut me out." With a dramatic flair, she pulled the ends of her unevenly cut hair out of its stylish twist.

Merle laughed, and I couldn't help smiling. "Have you thought of braiding your hair back instead of clogging the melif gears?"

The princess grinned, and the bright smile lit her face up into something shocking. She was pretty before, but damn, the change was drastic. It shows so much pure emotion. I'm not going to fall in love with her over a smile, but Merle could use an honest friend like her.

I listen to the girls chat for a while and realize I don't have to be alone in a crowded room. The one small hiccup was when the princess's former fiancée walked past our group with his new wife. Her hand shakily touches butchered locks, her face both pale and flushed. I feel for her, really I do, but I won't pretend to be her new love interest and make this all worse.

If I choose the people around me carefully, then maybe I won't feel the one thing missing from my life so strongly. It's a good life, and I'm lucky to have it. The personal stuff can wait; I have time. I've learned that family isn't always of a biological relation, and that blood ties don't always guarantee someone will love you.

I still love Hitomi two years later. We've both been changed by the war and the separate issues that followed. She may not even be the same person anymore, but I've grown stronger. I know that I can be the man she needs me to be. The only thing left to do is focus on my country; the people of Fanelia take priority over any love life. I'll be here when Hitomi returns. I can be what she needs, but only when she needs it.

The vultures will circle, but it's what they do. They see an opening for opportunity and power. I must build a wall around my heart and wait. I'll be here when she needs me. I won't marry, not when there is a chance, a shred of hope, for us. I believe in Hitomi. It's the least I can do.

I know my story doesn't end here, but I'll be more than happy to let someone else take the spotlight for once.

 **The End.**

 **Well that's Van's side of the story. The things I received the greatest response for in More Than Skin Deep was Van having the movie tattoo, Van still having some darkness still, and the strong man he became. This story was an exploration into how he got that far and some of the people and things that shaped that story. Merle talked about who bad Van had been after the war, how much worse Hitomi was and that she couldn't help this time. Now we know Van snapped at his lowest and hit Merle. Something he would never normally do.**

 **The other crossovers include the Farmer Norcross, a good man that showed Van kindness without reason and would have stayed true to their cause even after Fanelia was lost. The Bandit with the scar across his eyebrow, now we know Van gave it to him and in turn the scar on Van's side was from that night. Princess Eva and Van's engagement was also seen here, along with Merle's friendship with the woman. There are still more bits brought over between the two stories.**

 **War has far reaching effects and just because peace has been called doesn't fix things instantly. Ripples from multiple stones dropped into the water. Crossing, intersecting, and building until it's a web of interactions. We see in this story that the true test of Van as king isn't fighting a war, but healing his broken land in the after math.**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this look into Van's mind and world. This was my first try at a prequel and though a success, this is the final ending. Back to normal continuations for me. I already have the first chapter of my newest story almost finished.**


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